


choosing my confessions

by quietregulus



Series: confessions!verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Gay Draco Malfoy, HP: EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POC Harry Potter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-09-07 00:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8776456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietregulus/pseuds/quietregulus
Summary: After much deliberation and several unhealthy coping methods, Harry decides to go to a Muggle mental health support group. Who else would be there but Draco Malfoy?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is still far from finished but I need motivation/help/advice/pressure.
> 
> I have to face the facts - I write better when I'm massively depressed, which I'm usually not anymore (toot).
> 
> Though I did myself attend a mental health support group for a period of time, I didn't attend every single one in the world so I'm writing based on my experiences - they aren't universal.
> 
> I'm an American but I tried my best. Harry Potter isn't mine.
> 
> Warnings: sex, drug mention, alcohol, mental health talk, suicidal ideation, and self-harm mention.

His heart was pounding beneath his chest. He looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand and looked back up. Room 142, said the nameplate on the door. They were the same words that were scrawled on the paper, along with “5.30 PM.”

Harry stuffed the piece of paper in the pocket of his hoodie and wiped his hands on his jeans. He then took hold of the doorknob and turned.

It was bright. That was his first impression. His second was that the room was quite small, especially for the amount of people that was crammed into it. Most of them were already sitting down, making small talk with those around them. Others were standing around a plain, rectangular table that was topped with a box of donuts, Styrofoam cups, and a rather outdated coffee maker.

“Welcome,” said a voice, and Harry jumped.

He turned to look at the person who was standing before him. She was a thin, white, conventionally attractive woman with a kind smile. Her blonde hair was being kept out of her face with several bobby pins though a few stray pieces had fallen out, gently framing her kind face.

“You must be new – I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

“Er, yeah, I am,” Harry nodded, a little unnerved by how chirpy her voice was. “I sent an email. I’m Harry.”

“Oh, yes! Of course. My name is Katherine,” she said, holding out a hand. “I’m a facilitator of this support group. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” he said, and shook her extended hand.

“It’s so good to have you with us, Harry,” Katherine said. “Oh, but please call me Kathy. I’d like us all to be comfortable with one another.”

Harry nodded, and her smile stretched even further. Kathy left, probably to make friendly conversation with the people standing by the food table.

He looked over at the circle of plastic chairs that dominated the room. There was a small section of them that wasn’t occupied by anyone; Harry walked over and sat in one.

Harry checked his watch; it was the one Molly had given him five years ago. 5.27. Group was set to begin in three minutes. He was surprised he had come early; perhaps it was the nerves. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to give himself the chance to sit around making excuses as to why he couldn’t go.

He studied the room. He wasn’t sure what he had expected; there were about fifteen people present, not including Kathy or himself. Most of them were probably a bit older than him, maybe in their mid-to-late 20s. Some were middle-aged. There were a few that were younger than him as well, but he knew that one had to be at least eighteen to join. _Good for them_ , thought Harry. He wished he could have gotten the courage to get help when he was their age. He wished he had had the means.

Conversation was slowly dying down. Kathy had made her way over to the circle and sat herself down a few seats away from Harry. She picked up a clipboard and pen from underneath her seat and set them down in her lap.

There was a sound of a door opening, and Harry glanced over a moment, bored. He quickly did a double-take, however, because he could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Walking into the room was a man Harry hadn’t seen since he was eighteen years old. He didn’t look much different; he had the same pointy features, pale skin, and white-blond hair. But his hair _was_ a bit longer. Looser, too. And though it was hard to tell given the black puff coat that obscured his body, he might have been a bit thinner.

What Draco Malfoy was doing at a Muggle mental illness support group meeting, Harry did not know. Malfoy crossed the room and sat down directly across from Harry, apparently not spotting him, but as soon as he looked up and caught sight of him, Malfoy’s grey eyes widened fractionally.

Harry looked over at Kathy, attempting to be casual, as if this sort of thing happened every day. Of course, it didn’t, and Harry’s heart was pounding in his ears and his cheeks were burning but he still pretended that everything was Fine. He crossed his arms and waited for Kathy to speak. Mercifully, at this moment in time, she glanced at her phone before pocketing it and beamed at the group.

“Hello, everyone! Thanks for joining us again this week. I’m so glad to see returning members, and new ones as well. I just have a brief breathing exercise to start us off this evening, and then we can have our usual go-around. Does this sound alright with everyone?”

Various sounds of agreement emerged from the group. Harry was too busy staring at Kathy and pretending like everything was Fine to answer.

“Great,” Kathy said, and looked down at her clipboard. “So, this is called the four-seven-eight relaxation exercise. It’s meant to help you relax and manage your stress, and it supposedly gets more effective with practice. Right, so the first step is to close your eyes and sit up straight.”

Harry did so and uncrossed his arms. Breathing exercises weren’t always effective for him, as his mind tended to wander a fair bit. The disastrous occlumency lessons that took place so long ago was proof of that.

“Next, I want you to place the tip of your tongue behind your front teeth.”

Kathy’s voice had adopted a calming tone; less enthusiastic and overly cheery, more gentle and soothing. Harry followed her instructions, wondering why he had to do such a thing.

“Now, I want you to exhale completely through your mouth. Once you’ve done that, close your mouth and inhale through your nose for a count of four.” She paused momentarily. “One…two…three…four.”

Harry inhaled at her count, his tongue still pressed against the back of his front teeth.

“Now hold your breath…one…two…three…four…five…six…seven. Exhale completely through your mouth. One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight.”

Harry did. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he might have felt a little calmer.

“We’re going to do this three more times. Right. Inhale. One…two…three…four. Hold it…one…two…three…four…five…six…seven. And exhale. One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight.”

She continued to guide them until they had taken a total of four breaths. Harry opened his eyes prematurely. Malfoy sat there, eyes closed and back straight as he breathed. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen Malfoy look so peaceful.

“Open your eyes.”

Harry’s eyes darted away again, finding their way back to Kathy before Malfoy could catch him staring. She had put her clipboard down and was gazing around the room.

“How was that for everyone? I’d love to hear your thoughts.” Her voice was making its way back to its former chirpiness.

“I liked it,” said a man, probably a year or so younger than Harry. His black hair was swept back, and he had the sort of face you could trust. “I found myself relaxing, which I’d been unable to do all week.”

“Good! I’m glad, Samuel,” Kathy said, smiling at him.

“I liked it too,” a white woman agreed, nodding. Her mousy brown hair had streaks of grey in it, and there were tired bags underneath her eyes. “I’ll have to remember it so I can use it at home.”

“Oh, wonderful! It’s called the four-seven-eight breathing exercise,” Kathy reminded kindly. “Anyone else?”

“Yeah, it was useful.” The person closest to Harry said. Harry turned; he hadn’t realized anyone had sat down next to him. He was a black man, his hair cropped close to his skull. “I’m the same as Sam; I feel a lot more relaxed now.”

“Excellent,” Kathy said. She glanced around the room, seeing if anyone else was going to talk. When no one did, she repeated, “Excellent. Right, so it sounds like it’s been a bit of a long week for some of you. We can hop right into it and go around and talk about how you’ve been doing recently. Would anyone like to start?”

“I would,” volunteered a young woman who was sitting beside Kathy. She spoke quickly, her eyes darting across the room. Kathy nodded encouragingly, prompting her to speak. “Well, I’ve had a rather busy week; it’s like my professors are all plotting against me. I just feel like I can never take a break, like I’ve always got to be moving. My mind’s always working and if I’m not doing enough, I feel guilty. But I’ve been trying to keep positive.”

“That’s good, Abigail,” Kathy said, nodding. “How has your sleep schedule been? I know it can be irregular at times.”

Abigail made a face. “I’ve only slept eight hours in the past three nights. But it’s nearly the weekend, so I think I might be able to catch up a bit.”

“I’m glad; I hope you can.”

“Thanks,” Abigail said shyly.

“I can relate,” said Samuel, the man who had spoken earlier. “I’ve also been rather anxious about school and work. It’s only a few weeks into the term but I’m already nervous about several of my classes. It’s worse than usual, so I’m hoping it’ll die down once I get used to things again.”

“What are you experiencing now, if it’s worse than usual?”

“I just constantly feel sick to my stomach,” Samuel answered with a frown. “Normally, when I’m anxious, it goes away after a while, but it hasn’t been going away lately. I just can’t calm down. My stomach’s always twisting and my brain is always going, so it’s - it’s not fun.”

“Does anyone else experience this?” Kathy asked the group. “Perhaps someone has some coping methods they’d be willing to share.”

“Er,” Harry said, and he fidgeted uncomfortably as approximately fifteen people turned to look at him. He stared determinedly at Samuel and pretended that Malfoy wasn’t there. He pushed on, “Well, I don’t know if it’s exactly the same, but when I’m feeling, kind of, er, trapped in my head and anxious about things, I like taking walks outside. When I do that, it sort of reminds me how big the world is, and my problems feel tiny in comparison. It’s kind of humbling, I guess. It helps me relax.”

Samuel nodded as Harry spoke, encouraging him.

“Cheers,” he said. “I’ll definitely try that.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Kathy said, smiling at him. “Does anyone else have any advice for Samuel?”

They spent another forty-five minutes talking, people going around at random to talk about their week.

“We’ve got a break now,” Kathy said after taking out her phone to check the time, “So we’ll continue in ten minutes, like always.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he should stand; he wasn’t particularly hungry. Before he could decide, he saw that Samuel was walking towards him. Harry stood up.

“Hey, I just wanted to say thanks again,” Samuel said kindly. “Are you new here? I don’t recognize you, and I like to think I’m pretty good with faces.”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Harry.”

Samuel shook it. “Samuel. You can call me Sam, though.”

“Nice to meet you, Sam.”

“Likewise,” Samuel said. His eyes were very brown, and Harry found them to be warm and inviting. Samuel bit his lip and cocked his head. “I don’t mean to be rude, but are you South Asian?” When Harry blinked, he continued. “That _was_ rude, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said. “But yeah, my dad was British Indian. Mum was white.”

“Oh, nice,” Samuel said, the grin coming back on his face. It fell slightly as (Harry guessed, anyway) Harry’s use of past tense sunk in. Thankfully, Samuel decided not to inquire about it. “My parents are both from Pakistan. It’s always nice to meet other Asians. Got to stick together, eh?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. He glanced over Samuel’s shoulder for a second, catching a glimpse of Malfoy. Harry hesitated, then nodded towards him. “Hey, er, d’you know him?”

Samuel looked behind him, trying to determine who Harry was talking about.

“The blond bloke?” he asked once he’d turned back around. Harry nodded. Samuel frowned. “Name’s Draco. Haven’t talked to him much, to be honest, but he’s been here almost as long as I have. Kind of quiet. Keeps to himself. Why?”

“Oh, I was just curious.” Harry didn’t think he needed to get into their complicated history.

He was slightly surprised that Malfoy had decided to go with his given name; it wasn’t exactly ordinary, especially among Muggles. _Stop thinking about Malfoy,_ he thought sternly to himself.

Samuel raised his eyebrows but didn’t push. Harry decided that he liked Samuel.

They spent the rest of break chatting. It turned out Samuel was indeed a year younger than Harry at twenty-one years old. Harry also learned that he was an international relations student at London Metropolitan University. Harry kept the conversation directed towards Samuel; he wasn’t sure how to explain that he dropped out of school before the age of seventeen to kill a Dark Lord, and has since been rather lost.

Their ten minutes was up, and Kathy ushered them back to their seats. Samuel nodded before going back to his seat; Harry sat down, feeling rather pleased with himself. It wasn’t easy making friends; in the Wizarding world, people were too awestruck to actually _talk_ to him, and yet he found it hard to connect with Muggles – magic had been a part of his life for too long.

He glanced at Malfoy, trying to be discreet. He was sitting there, eyes on Kathy, and Harry resisted the urge to go over there and start interrogating him. It wasn’t his business, Harry tried to reason with himself. Malfoy could do whatever the hell he liked, and it didn’t concern him at all.

But it did, another part of him argued. He wanted so desperately to know what he was doing here, amongst Muggles, after he had slinked into anonymity after the trials.

Kathy’s voice interrupted the debate raging on in his head.

“Right, I hope you’re feeling ready to jump back into it. Who’d like to go next?” Her eyes scanned the room, finally landing on Harry. _Oh no_. “Harry? Why don’t you introduce yourself to the group?”

He swallowed thickly.

“Er, sure,” Harry said nervously. He avoided Malfoy’s gaze at all costs as he looked around vaguely, not really making eye contact with anyone. “Well, my name’s Harry. I found out about this group pretty recently, although I’ve lived in this area for a few years now. I’m, er, looking forward to it and to getting help and all that…”

He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Kathy smiled at him encouragingly.

“What brought you here?” she prompted.

“Oh. Well, I’ve been sort of struggling to deal with things,” Harry said, panicking a little. Once again, it occurred to him just how hard it would be to explain his problems to Muggles. He continued, deciding to leave things ambiguous. “Things that happened in the past. I still get nightmares and I’ve got some – er, anger issues. Control issues. For a while I just tried to ignore it, self-medicating, I guess, but I’m not doing that anymore. So now I’m here to, er, help myself. The right way.”

Kathy smiled at him. “Thank you for sharing that with us, Harry. I know how difficult it is to take that first step, and we’re glad you’re here with us.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Harry said awkwardly, and tried to manage a smile. 

Kathy moved onto someone else. Harry looked down in his lap and took a deep breath. Hardest part is over, apparently. His hands were curled into tight fists, he noticed, and he made an effort to relax them.

When Harry looked up, his eyes met Malfoy’s grey ones for only the second time that night. Harry tried to make his face remain impassive, though he felt strange knowing that Malfoy had heard his choppy introduction. What was Malfoy thinking?

Malfoy’s gaze lingered on Harry for another moment, his expression still impossible to read, before it moved to rest on the current speaker.

Harry tried to focus on them too, but his mind was too busy trying to work Malfoy out.

* * *

 

“So, how was it?”

Hermione was looking at him from across the coffee table. Harry didn’t have to ask her to clarify what “it” was. He knew what she was talking about, and that she was using her casual voice, the one she used when she tried to keep her curiosity under wraps. Ron’s attention turned to Harry as well, though his curiosity was much more obvious, all wide eyes and slowed chewing.

It was Saturday morning, also known as the time they all had breakfast together at Ron and Hermione’s flat. They hadn’t had a chance to see each other since Harry attended group for the first time on Wednesday.

Harry swallowed his bite of eggs before answering.

“It was good,” he said cautiously. He didn’t think he’d tell them about Malfoy, though he burned to talk about it with someone. But there was group confidentiality and all that. “The facilitator seems nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Harry said.

“But do you think it will help?” Hermione asked gently.

“Can’t know for sure yet,” Harry said truthfully. “It’s only been one meeting. But I’m going to keep going.”

Hermione smiled at him. “I’m glad.”

* * *

 

The next week trudged by slowly.

Harry didn’t do much. He’d dropped out of Auror training about a half year into it. Ron finished training and was a fully-fledged Auror for about a year before dropping out as well and going to work with George instead. Hermione had gone back to school to make up for her absent year, and was now working for the Ministry, working to advance creature rights. Ron and Hermione loved what they did, and Harry was both proud and bitter.

Auror training was just wrong for him. It’d bring back feelings of hopelessness and having to fight for his life. It made his paranoia worse, and the nightmares became more frequent and severe – sometimes he’d have trouble telling them apart from reality. After a while, the fear became too much to handle. He had been under the threat of danger for too long and couldn’t bear it any longer.

But without Auror training, what did that leave him? His friends, of course. And Ginny.

Ginny. They resumed things after the war, but it felt wrong. Forced. He was alive, sure, but not in the way he was before. He often wondered if he’d come back wrong after dying.

He felt like he’d been reduced to just the worst parts of himself afterward coming back; his irritability, his lack of control, his guilt, suspicion, and hopelessness. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t force her to stay with him and care for him when he didn’t even care for himself.

She was wonderful, though. She’d try to cheer him up, she’d try to distract him, and she’d soothe him when he woke up screaming – and this happened more often than not. She’d try to get him outside, to get him talking to people, talking to Teddy. She’d calm him down when he had panic attacks, when he’d get headaches and fear Voldemort was coming back again.

Ginny was also the one who had gotten him to wean off the dreamless sleep. She’d noticed just how much he was taking, and just how frequently, and confronted him about it. Harry tried to deny it at first, but she could see right through him. She had known him too well and too long for that. She helped him stop even though he was scared and angry and he begged her to let him keep using them.

He hadn’t touched a bottle since he was twenty.

Their relationship officially ended half a year after that, but he often wondered how long it had been dead before then. He wasn’t a proper boyfriend; he hadn’t been since the first six months of the revival of their relationship. Ginny was too kind, too loving, and most of all, much too good for Harry, and he had to let her go.

Ginny was now flying for the Holyhead Harpies, and she was happy. He saw it in her eyes when they’d all gather at the Burrow or the two of them would meet up for drinks when she had the time. He still cared very much for her, and he knew she cared for him as well, but their current friendship was much healthier than whatever they had before.

And so without a job, without Ginny, and without dreamless sleep, Harry found other ways to live. It wasn’t always ideal, he knew, but still. He was breathing.

For a while he’d taken to visiting Muggle bars and clubs. He’d get drunk enough to forget how much he didn’t want to be alive, and he might have pick someone up along the way. He was irresponsible, he knew, and he was an inconsiderate git. He’d hardly remember having sex with whoever it was, but he’d always leave before they woke up.

Maybe he just wanted to be reckless. Maybe he wanted to feel something other than panic and anger or _nothing_. He’d since stopped this habit, too, but only after Ron had a serious talk with him. He was careful to only drink socially instead of drinking to forget how much he wanted to die.

So now he sat around Grimmauld Place, where he’d been living in since the Battle. On the days he was especially restless, he’d go through and clean the house, looking through it and half-hoping he’d find something interesting of Sirius’. Kreacher would chase him around, telling him to lie down and rest.

But usually, he’d sleep at infrequent intervals, read old paperbacks, and talk to Ron and Hermione when they had time.

And that’s what he did until next Wednesday.

* * *

 

The meetings were held in a public library not far from Grimmauld Place. Going there by foot made for a nice walk, though it was a rather cool evening for September.

When Harry entered the room, his eyes fell on Malfoy immediately, and he couldn’t help but think about how nice he looked.

Malfoy’s cheeks were pink from the cold (he must have come in just before Harry), and he was wrapped up in a dark green scarf, because apparently, some things never changed. His thin, white fingers were gripping a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his lap. He looked tense, sitting rigidly in his chair as he stared a bit too intensely at nothing in particular.

“All right, Harry?”

He looked away from Malfoy and turned towards Samuel, who was approaching Harry with a donut in hand.

“Hey,” Harry said in greeting. He nodded at the donut. “Are those any good?”

“No,” sighed Samuel, “But as a student, I have to take all the free food I can get.”

Harry laughed. “Right.”

They walked over to the chairs to sit down next to one another.

“I’m glad you decided to come back,” said Samuel. “Loads of people come in once and never return. Too daunting, I guess.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t too sure of what to expect. I’ve never done anything like this before,” admitted Harry.

“Really?” Samuel looked surprised. “Huh. I’ve been going to these things since secondary school.”

It was Harry’s turn to be surprised. “Secondary school?”

Samuel nodded. “But they weren’t always support groups. I’ve jumped around from hospital to one-to-one counseling to groups like these.”

Harry wasn’t exactly sure of proper etiquette of two mentally ill people talking about being mentally ill, so he just said, “Oh.”

“I like support groups best, though,” Samuel said. “And this group especially. Good people.”

Harry nodded, his eyes moving across the room. He honestly couldn’t agree nor disagree with Samuel’s statement; he didn’t know them well enough to have formed a fair opinion. Even Malfoy, Harry thought as his eyes rested on him, was a complete mystery to him all over again.

“All right, you lot, settle down,” Kathy said, her voice carrying over the conversations that were being held. Harry directed his attention to her. “Thanks for coming today; it’s good to see your faces.

“I don’t have a special activity planned for us today, so I thought we could take the entire session to just talk about our weeks. If anyone has any suggestions or requests, however, I’d be very happy to hear them.”

“Could we do that breathing exercise we did last time?” asked a young woman who was seated closest to the door.

“Yes, of course,” Kathy smiled. “For those of you who weren’t here, or who don’t remember, it’s called the four-seven-eight breathing exercise. Follow along if you want.”

Kathy led them through the exercise. Harry breathed along with the rest of the group. This time, he didn’t open his eyes until Kathy told them to, wanting to get the full Experience of the relaxation exercise. He still wasn’t sure if it helped, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Great. Thank you, Cait,” Kathy said as they all blinked to familiarize themselves once more with the harsh lighting.

Cait nodded.

“So, who would like to go first today?” Kathy asked, looking around at the group. Unlike last time, no one volunteered. With a smile on her lips, she continued scanning the room, evidently trying to pick a “volunteer.” Her brown eyes landed on Malfoy. “Draco, would you be willing?”

Malfoy looked up at Kathy evenly, his fingers still tight on his cup.

“Yes,” Malfoy said.

He cleared his throat and his eyes looked impassively around the room, pausing only momentarily on Harry. He suddenly realized he hadn’t heard Malfoy speak in over four years.

“I visited my mother over the weekend,” Malfoy said. His voice was softer, less sharp - different from what Harry was used to. Even during the trials his words had had some bite. “At my old home. I still don’t feel comfortable there. Mother thinks I just need more time, but I don’t know if it’ll ever feel right again. It’s difficult because I love my mother, and I want to see her, but I still want to separate myself from that house, my family…and my past. Not entirely, of course, but it’s even harder to move on when I’ve got to go to that house so often.

“And I desperately want to move on,” Malfoy continued, his gaze dropping to his cup of coffee. “Holding onto the past and ruminating over it does me no favors, so I _know_ I’ve got to move on. But whenever I have to go back to that house, when I have to have tea in a place where those things happened – it just brings me right back. It just sort of feels like…I’m taking one step forward and two steps back.”

Kathy nodded. She had heard similar things from Malfoy before, evidently. Harry wondered how long Malfoy had been coming to the meetings. He’d have to ask Samuel later.

“Have you tried talking to your mother about meeting each other outside of the house?” Kathy asked.

“She doesn’t get out much,” Malfoy answered. His grey eyes were on Kathy. “I think it’s the opposite with her. If she stays in the house, it’s like nothing’s changed outside.”

“Is there perhaps a place where the two of you could meet in the middle? Someplace that reminds her of your old life together, and someplace that doesn’t hold such negative memories for you?”

Malfoy hesitated.

“I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t know if someplace like that exists. I’ll have to think on it. Thank you.”

“Of course, Draco. I hope you can find a way for you to be able to spend time together without it being painful.”

Harry studied Malfoy. To be honest, he hadn’t given much thought to the Malfoy family after the trials. He’d spoken in support of Draco and Narcissa, explaining what they’d done for him, how he wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for them. But after that, their family didn’t often cross his mind.

It made sense, though. He’d seen snippets of Voldemort’s horrific stay at the Malfoy Manor, and he certainly didn’t envy them. He wondered how it felt to occupy the same spaces that Voldemort had – to live in the same house as Voldemort had.

Though, it was the Malfoy’s space in the first place…maybe that was why Narcissa Malfoy felt more comfortable in her own home. She could pretend that the war hadn’t happened in the first place.

Harry snapped out of it. Why was he thinking so much on it? It didn’t concern him. Course, he always did have a habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

He listened to the others who spoke. It was remarkable how often he really resonated with what others were saying. It was strange to think that, perhaps, he wasn’t as alone in his thoughts as he had always believed.

Halfway through, Kathy released them for break. Harry turned to face Samuel in his chair.

“So, er, how long have you been coming to this group?”

Samuel thought a moment.

“Well, I reckon I started coming here halfway through my third year at uni, so…almost a year.”

Harry nodded. So Malfoy’s been coming to these meetings for almost a year as well. He wondered why he cared.

“But tell me about yourself, Harry,” Samuel said, surprising him. When he grimaced, Samuel frowned apologetically. “Just a little? I feel like I hardly know you.”

It’s true; Harry had been purposefully evasive. Relationships were about giving and getting, right? One person couldn’t just work for it. He’d learned that from Ginny.

“Er, well,” Harry frowned. “I don’t know what to say. What do you want to know?”

Samuel hummed thoughtfully.

“What do you do?”

Harry tried not to sigh.

“Not much, really,” Harry said. “I meet with friends sometimes, I read, I listen to old records…”

“Work?”

Harry shook his head. “I tried to – er, I was in police training for a bit, but that didn’t work out.”

 _Yeah, three bloody years ago_ , supplied an unhelpful voice in Harry’s head.

“Really?” Samuel grinned. “Wouldn’t’ve figured you for a copper.”

“Yeah,” Harry let out a laugh. “Dunno why I thought it was a good idea.”

_What else were you supposed to do?_

“What about your mates? What’re they like?”

This, he could talk about this.

“They’re brilliant. There’s Ron, who I’ve known him since I was eleven. He’s the funniest bloke I know and dead loyal. We used to mess around in school all the time…and there’s Hermione, who’s his wife, and I’ve known her just as long. She’s so clever and brave and I dunno what I’d do without her.”

Samuel was nodding, a soft smile on his face.

“They sound really special.”

“They are. I couldn’t - I honestly wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for them.”

Harry felt a sudden rush of affection for them and had the impulse to leave to just see them, to just tell them how important they were to him. He didn’t think he expressed it to them often enough.

“That’s wonderful, mate,” Samuel said. “I can tell they mean a lot to you – this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you. I know I barely know you so it can’t really mean much, but still.”

Harry grinned. Yes, he really did like Samuel.

* * *

 

He’d got himself a laptop and Internet connection a few years after moving in. He often wondered how the Blacks (most of them, anyway) would have felt about the person who’d killed their beloved Dark Lord bringing Muggle technology into their Most Ancient and Decrepit Home.

One day, Ron and Hermione were visiting when Hermione spotted it. She was overjoyed and proceeded to pull her own out of that beaded bag of hers. Ron examined the laptops, clearly confused. Harry and Hermione tried to explain them to Ron, but he simply shook his head and muttered about how his dad should have come instead.

Hermione pulled up a list of links, showing them to Harry as she nervously explained what she’d been doing. She had found different resources for those suffering from mental illness.

For years, Hermione had suggested he go see someone for his PTSD (which Hermione had diagnosed him with after much careful consideration). Of course, she couldn’t let the matter rest when he said _no thank you_ , so she’d continued to research ways to aid him by herself.

The pages she had pulled up for him varied. Some were to online bookstores that were selling self-help books. Others were online forums and communities, and there were a few to some psychologists in London. The last one she showed him was a very basic website detailing a mental illness support group that had weekly meetings a few blocks away.

Harry had firmly told her _thank you, but no_ once again, but she still didn’t give up.

“Fine,” she had said, her face defiant. It reminded him of their days at Hogwarts (he felt a sad twang of nostalgia at that). “But I’m sending you all of these links just in case you change your mind. What’s your email address?”

A few weeks ago, he stumbled across the email she had sent him that day. He visited all the websites she had supplied him with, figuring he had nothing better to do with his time.

They actually turned out to be rather interesting; he spent an entire day going through them and finding even more on his own. Still, even as he scrolled through countless lists and taken several questionnaires, he wasn’t convinced he was mentally ill. He might’ve just been overreacting or reflecting what he read or something.

After much deliberation, he read and reread the summary that was on that support group’s website. It was another week before he emailed them, saying he was interested in joining. When they emailed back, saying they’d love to have him and providing all of the information, he read and reread that too.

A week after that, he told Hermione about it over breakfast. Thrilled, she got up to embrace him and told him how glad she was. Ron nodded and congratulated him too, though Harry knew he was still rather confused about the whole concept of support groups.

The fact that there weren’t any for Wizards was a major shortcoming of Wizarding society, Harry thought. Along with the lack of the Internet, and ballpoint pens, and probably hundreds of other Muggle inventions. Someday he’d have to make a list of all the things the Wizarding world was missing out on.

That day after Hermione had set off for work, leaving Ron and Harry to clear up, Harry tried again to explain what support groups were.

“There’s all sorts of groups,” said Harry. “For people with addictions to alcohol or Muggle drugs, for people who are grieving…for people with mental illnesses.”

Ron nodded, looking thoughtful as he levitated a clean dish back into the cabinet.

“And they’re all over the place,” Harry continued. “They could be part of a bigger organization that supports some general cause, or they could be part of hospitals. Oh, and there’s Muggle hospitals that just help Muggles with mental illnesses.”

Ron took in what Harry was saying, nodding at the right times.

“It’s just,” Harry had said, lowering his wand, “I still can’t believe wizards don’t have hospitals like that too. What do mentally ill wizards and witches do?”

Ron shrugged. “I mean, if it’s cause of a spell, there’s that ward in St. Mungo’s.”

“Right,” said Harry, remembering their accidental visit during fifth year, “But for natural problems…there’s nothing?”

“Not that I know of,” Ron said, pausing now too to match Harry’s gaze. He was frowning. “I never even thought about it before, honestly. Maybe it just never occurred to the people who made St. Mungo’s however long ago.”

“It should change,” said Harry firmly. “There should be help for people who need it.”

“I agree with you, mate,” Ron had said as he went back to work. “I guess we really do need to catch up with the Muggles.”

* * *

 

It was Wednesday again.

Harry stared at a corner of the room because eye contact was difficult. He sat there wringing his hands, wondering how to proceed. He forced himself to stop moving his hands.

Somehow, the group had gotten onto the topic of family. Harry would have liked to skip his turn but he imagined what Hermione would think if she knew he was being counterproductive.

His eyes flashed toward Kathy for a second, who nodded, and he went back to staring at the corner of the room.

“I, well, when I was a kid…my friends say I was abused,” Harry said quickly, because quickly was the only way he could possibly get it out. “Which, really, is too strong of a word, I think. I mean, yeah, the Du- er, my caretakers weren’t the nicest people but they kept me alive. I had a roof over my head, and I got food at least once a day, so I can’t be ungrateful, y’know?”

He breathed out shakily, and continued looking at that spot.

“But it wasn’t ideal. I know that. I can say that and believe it, because I know they really disliked me…I know they weren’t the best caregivers, and I know that locking me in a cupboard for ten years wasn’t right. But they took me out eventually. They gave me a room and food when it wasn’t too much trouble, when _I_ wasn’t too much trouble. I mean, I grew up with them telling me I was a waste of space and, well, they didn’t ask for me so I have to be grateful for what they did for me. And I am.”

He was wringing his hands again but this time he didn’t force himself to stop. He looked around the room, his face hot. He’d said too much; he could tell by how the others were looking at him. His eyes stopped on Malfoy, who was looking at him like he’d never seen Harry before.

“Harry,” Kathy said, and his eyes snapped to her. “These caretakers, were they your parents?”

Harry shook his head. “My parents died when I was young. My aunt and uncle took care of me.”

She nodded, her intense gaze on Harry. It made him uncomfortable.

“You don’t need to be grateful for what they did for you. Because what they did _to_ you outweighs anything they ever did for you, which doesn’t sound like much. A caretaker should never lock their child up or deny them food, and it sounds like that’s what your aunt and uncle did. You’re allowed to be mad at them, and you’re allowed to think that they were in the wrong. You didn’t deserve their abuse.”

Her words were nonsense, bouncing off him. He’d heard variations of these words so many times before, but he never believed them. He nodded anyway.

“Thank you for sharing, Harry.”

* * *

 

It was break time and Harry stood awkwardly by the food and drinks table, slowly sipping his lukewarm coffee. Samuel had gone to the loo, leaving him alone.

A light cough snapped him out of his daze. Harry looked up and his eyes widened in surprise; Malfoy was standing next to him. He wondered when they had last stood so close.

“I never knew,” Malfoy said. His face was nearly expressionless, but there was a hint of remorse in his grey eyes. There were bags under them.

It took Harry a moment to realize what he was talking about.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Well, I mean, hardly anyone does, so…”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, but his words were firm. “I couldn’t have been more wrong about your childhood. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t,” Harry said quickly. He hadn’t expected this, and he didn’t know why he was trying to tell Malfoy that he wasn’t a complete prat when that’s exactly what he was. “Like I said, hardly anyone knew, and you couldn’t have known.”

“It was still wrong of me to make wild assumptions of your life and spread them to anyone who would listen,” Malfoy said and crossed his arms.

“Well, yeah, but…just forget about it, Malfoy. The rumors you spread in school don’t keep me up at night.”

_Other things do._

There was an undiscernible expression on Malfoy’s thin face, but he uncrossed his arms.

“Fine.”

Harry was trying to think of something to say when Samuel came back.

“All right?” he said to Harry as he approached. He noticed Malfoy, and nodded apprehensively. “Draco, yeah?”

Malfoy nodded.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure. Formally, at least,” Samuel said, and extended his hand.

Malfoy took it. “You’re Samuel.”

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes went from Malfoy to Harry. “You two know each other?”

Harry’s heartbeat quickened.

“Er,” Harry said.

“We went to school together,” Malfoy supplied.

“Hm,” Samuel said, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

He was tense; he didn’t know what to do. Malfoy saved him from having to do anything when he said, “Well. Nice catching up, Potter. And nice to finally meet you, Samuel.”

Harry and Samuel watched him walk away, and Samuel turned to Harry, his eyebrows even higher up on his forehead.

“Potter?” he repeated.

“We weren’t on the best of terms at school,” Harry tried explaining.

Samuel simply shook his head. “You’re a complicated man, Harry. I feel like the more I learn about you, the less I know.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that.

* * *

 

They were going out for drinks. Social drinking. Not drinking-to-forget-how-much-you-wanted-to-die drinking.

Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror. It insulted his hair, and his clothes. He glared at the mirror. He’d changed into something that he hadn’t been wearing for the past three days, and he thought that should be enough.

He checked his watch. With a start, he realized he was fifteen minutes late. It’d taken him longer than he expected to summon the energy to get up from the couch and find clean clothes.

Harry Apparated to the outside of the Muggle pub they frequented – “they” being some variation of the old members of Dumbledore’s Army (something that felt like ancient history to Harry). They tried to meet up once a month; attendance had been higher immediately after the war. Over the years, only a few of them continued to come regularly.

Harry saw a head of red hair and another of brown almost immediately, and he made his way over to the table they were occupying. Four faces smiled at him: Ron, Hermione, George, and Luna.

“Harry!” Ron greeted enthusiastically. He patted the empty seat that was next to him. “Siddown, mate.”

It seemed Ron had wasted no time in starting to drink.

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry said as he sat down in the empty chair.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Harry,” Hermione smiled. She pushed a pint towards him. “I got a drink for you.”

“Cheers,” Harry said, and took a sip.

“Harry,” George greeted. “It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Alright. Shop’s going well, I hear?”

George nodded. “Business has picked up again since Hogwarts has started.”

“Oh, good, I’m glad to hear it,” said Harry.

“But really, our success is all due to you,” grinned George. He lifted his own pint and took a swig.

Harry shook his head.

“Rubbish. You’re brilliant, George, and that’s what makes you successful,” he said firmly.

George rolled his eyes. “Nothing would have come out of it without you, Harry.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that so he took another sip.

George seemed to understand and said sincerely, “Really, Harry. I’m not lying to you. I’ll always be grateful for what you did for us.”

Warmth spread through Harry’s chest. He put his glass down and met George’s gaze.

“If you say so.”

“I do,” George grinned.

“Cheers,” Harry said and lifted his glass, a feeling of hope flowing through him.

George tapped Harry’s glass with his own.

“Cheers.”

* * *

 

Harry tried to think of something to say. He rubbed at his jaw.

“I fell yesterday,” Harry said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going and I tripped up the stairs to my house. It felt like – like the pathetic end to a pathetic day. I dunno. But, er, anyway, I got inside and I checked to see the damage to my knee, to see if I got cut or anything. I didn’t, and…I was actually disappointed.” He tried to laugh, but what came out of his mouth sounded forced and wrong. “I was disappointed to see that I wasn’t bleeding.”

He looked at Kathy, feeling rather silly.

“Why do you think that was?” she asked seriously.

“I dunno,” Harry said, and he didn’t.

Well, sort of. He had a few guesses. 1) He wanted to see himself suffer. 2) He wanted a reminder that this was real, he was real. 3) No, that was it.

Kathy seemed to sense that he wasn’t saying everything, so he reluctantly continued.

“I thought, it might remind me that this is real. That I’m real. Sometimes I feel disconnected. Or maybe, I think, I deserved it. I wanted to see myself bleed.”

It sounded worse out loud. He determinedly avoided Malfoy’s stare.

Kathy frowned at that.

“Why do you think you deserve to bleed?”

“I dunno,” he said again. He was saying that too much. He sighed. “I just do.”

It was more complicated than that, but he didn’t feel like elaborating, even if he could sort through the muddled layers of self-loathing and guilt and all those other things that ripped at him.

Harry rubbed at his eyes, taking off his glasses to do so.

“Sorry – I’m not in the best of moods today,” he said quietly when he had put them back on.

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” Kathy said kindly. “How are you feeling?”

“Angry,” he said. “I’m no stranger to feeling angry,” he gave a short laugh at that, “But I’d still rather not…it just makes me feel like I’m fifteen again and that was, er, not the best year of my life. But – er, what I meant to say is, sorry if I’m being short with you or anyone else – I don’t mean to be a git. I just am, sometimes.”

A small scoff sounded at the opposite end of the room; Harry glanced up at that, intrigued. Malfoy was sitting there, rolling his eyes.

“Draco,” Kathy said in her Warning Tone. “Have you forgotten the rules?”

“Ah, no. I apologize,” Malfoy said insincerely, nodding infinitesimally at Harry.

Something sparked in Harry – something that wasn’t contempt for himself. Something that wasn’t a deep feeling of TIRED in his bones.

“No, tell me, Malfoy,” Harry said, leaning forwards in his seat a bit. “Why’d you scoff?”

Malfoy rose an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with interest.

“Because you _are_ a git, Potter.”

Harry’s heart was beginning to race. “Oh yeah?”

Malfoy kept going as if Harry hadn’t spoken.

“A massive one – and to hear you say that you _can_ be, _sometimes_ , is laughable.”

“That’s rich, coming from the biggest fucking git I know.” Harry stood up, the chair making a harsh squeaking noise against the floor.

Malfoy rose to the challenge.

“Takes one to know one, apparently. Oh – but don’t worry, Potter, I can confirm that you’re essentially the same person you were at fifteen – angry, incoherent, pigheaded,” Malfoy listed, counting them off on his thin fingers. There was a mean sneer on his face. “Congratulations on not having grown at all these past few years.”

An angry laugh come out of Harry’s mouth. “Yeah, like you still aren’t an arrogant, cold prat. I’m surprised to see you here with all these –“

“Harry! Draco!” cut in Kathy, aghast. “I am all for getting your feelings and emotions out but this is completely counterproductive and unsuitable for this environment! I suggest you rein it in if you’d like to continue participating in group. If not, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Harry flushed, suddenly remembering where he was and grateful that Kathy had stepped in before he finished his sentence. Although, what did the others think he would end his sentence with? The possibilities were endless – and all of them had the chance of being incredibly disrespectful.

Malfoy was also apparently remembering where he was – his face was slowly going back to its usual expressionlessness mask. Harry looked around, thoroughly embarrassed, seeing the shocked (and a few excited) faces of the other group members. Samuel, next to him, was staring at him with wide eyes.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” Harry stammered, running a nervous hand through his hair. “Christ, I’m so sorry.”

“I apologize as well,” Malfoy said quietly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“That’s alright,” Kathy said, relaxing slightly in her chair though she was still gripping her clipboard a bit too tightly. “If you’d like to step outside to work out your differences, you’re free to do so.” At the unwilling looks of both Harry and Malfoy, she added, “I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”

Harry nodded, mortified, and walked out the room with Malfoy at his heels.

When the door clicked shut, Harry turned and stared at Malfoy, his face still feeling hot. Malfoy stared back, his arms crossed and face flushed a pale pink.

“I’m – fuck,” Harry muttered, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes again.

“Language, Potter,” Malfoy said, though the vehemence was out of his tone. He just sounded tired.

Harry shoved the glasses back on his face, opting to ignore Malfoy.

“I can’t believe I almost called them Muggles. I wonder what they think I was going to say,” Harry said, turning again to stare at the door. “Fuck.”

“You’ve said that already.”

Harry glared at him half-heartedly. Malfoy looked back impassively.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Harry finally mumbled, ending their staring match.

Malfoy sighed, and he became less rigid. “Me too.”

Harry studied Malfoy, thinking about how he was still a complete mystery to him. There was the Malfoy he knew during his early years in Hogwarts, the one he knew at sixteen and seventeen (he’d been more of a real person then), the one he knew immediately after the war, and now – most puzzling yet – the one that attended a Muggle mental illness support group.

“What?”

“What?” Harry said immediately, snapping back to it.

“You’re staring,” Malfoy said, perfect eyebrow raised.

“Er, right,” Harry said, glancing away. “Sorry.”

“That’s quite all right, Potter.” Malfoy sounded amused. Add that to the list of things that made Draco Malfoy a mystery.

Harry sighed and looked back at Malfoy. His arms were crossed again.

“No, I mean, I’m sorry. About – in there. I shouldn’t have said all that I did. It wasn’t true. I don’t know what happened. It really felt like I was fifteen again.”

“I – yes.” Malfoy hesitated. “I understand. I’m sorry as well.”

“Right,” Harry exhaled, feeling uncomfortable. “Well. Should we go back in, then?”

He gestured towards the door.

“I suppose,” Malfoy said, nodding slightly.

Harry turned and took hold of the door handle.

“Wait, Potter.”

Harry looked back at Malfoy, who actually seemed nervous for once.

“I don’t want something like that to happen again. I like this place, and I’d like to keep attending the meetings, so…” Malfoy met Harry’s eyes. “I’d like to be able to be on civil terms with one another.”

Harry blinked.

“Oh, er, yeah. Me too,” Harry said, nodding, unsure of what to do next.

“Right.”

“Great.”

And without thinking, Harry offered his hand out to Malfoy. The other man looked down at it with caution before taking it in his own and shaking. It was cold.

Harry remembered himself. He took his hand back and opened the door, his face hot once more.

“After you, _Draco_ ,” Harry said nervously, wondering if Malfoy would mock him.

Instead, Malfoy simply walked past.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said curtly.

The two walked back in together, all eyes on them. Kathy smiled from the center of the room.

* * *

 

“Harry…mate…”

“I know, I know,” Harry sighed.

“I don’t know if you do, though,” Samuel said lowly.

Samuel’s dark eyes were glittering with something mixed between fascination and awe. They were standing in an isolated corner of the room during break, speaking where no one could hear them. Malfoy sat with Kathy, who was listening interestedly. Everyone else was trying to be polite and not stare _too much_ but Harry had gone enough years to know when people were gaping at him.

“There’s never been a shouting match here. Sure, some disagreements, some uncomfortable debates, but nothing like _that_.”

“I’m really embarrassed,” Harry said. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. It just…did.”

“Not on the best of terms, my arse,” Samuel laughed.

Harry shot him a glare.

“All I’m saying is, I haven’t seen aggression like that in ages, and I’m in university,” Samuel said, lifting his hands, a smile playing on his lips. “So _now_ will you tell me how you two know each other?”

“It really is complicated, Sam,” Harry said. He ran a hand through his hair. It’d be so much easier if he could talk freely about magic with Muggles but he knew that could be disastrous in so many ways. “We went to school together, this private school in Scotland, and we were er, rivals, I guess.”

“Rivals?” Samuel laughed. “You make it sound so serious.”

“It was,” Harry insisted, though he knew it must have sounded silly. “We – God, we were always fighting and competing…just being general shits to each other. We were in these houses, each with our own sports teams, and we’d get points for doing well in classes or lose them for breaking rules. I’m sure you can imagine what that led to. It, er, got out of hand at times.”

“If that shouting match just now was anything to go by, I believe you.”

“That was pretty tame, honestly. It actually got physical a few times,” Harry said, wincing as he remembered their disastrous fight in sixth year. “More than a few times, actually.”

“Christ, Harry,” Samuel’s eyes sparkled. “I can hardly believe it.”

“Trust me, it was bad.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Samuel smiled at him curiously, and Harry felt warmth gather in his cheeks. Harry looked away, uncertain of what to say.

“Alright, let’s group up again!”

* * *

 

When Harry got home that evening, he sat on the couch in the living room for a bit just to think. Kreacher asked if he could get Harry anything, anything at all, but Harry declined. He had to review what had happened. He needed to remember every detail. He just had to think.

* * *

 

The next day while out grocery shopping (he was slowly getting better at buying proper food), he ran into Luna.

“Luna?”

She turned and smiled, a shopping basket dangling from her bent arm. “Hello, Harry.”

“What’re you doing here? I didn’t know you shopped at Muggle stores.”

“Oh yes, well,” Luna said, looking at him with her wide eyes. She was dressed in Muggle clothing, though there was still something quite odd and Luna-esque about them, “I find that Muggles have a wider collection of what they call ‘vegan’ food. Do you know what that is, Harry?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Muggles are wonderful, aren’t they?” she said admiringly. Luna picked up a package of vegan sausage from the meat counter, showing it to Harry. He nodded, and she put it back. “They can make anything vegan. I wish more magic folk cared about the welfare of creatures.”

“They will, Luna, after you’re through with them,” Harry said.

“I hope so. That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” Luna smiled. “How are you feeling, Harry? You look different. Better, even.”

“Oh.” Harry wondered if it was true. “Erm, thanks. I guess group is helping.”

“I’m very happy to hear that. Something happened, didn’t it? Something additional to group, I mean, to make you feel different.”

There was no use lying to Luna, or wondering how she knew all these things.

“Er, well. Someone from Hogwarts is also there too.”

“Oh, yes, that’s rather common. The war was terrible,” Luna said in a rather mellow tone.

Harry went on.

“But it’s not someone I, err, got along with.”

“Is it Draco Malfoy?”

Once again, there was no use in wondering how she knew all of these things.

Harry nodded, worrying his bottom lip.

“He’s sort of…well, something happened last time. We got into a row, and it just, made me feel alive again?” His statement inadvertently turned into a question towards the end. Harry’s cheeks warmed – he felt ridiculous saying all these things. To Luna in a Muggle supermarket, nevertheless. “It was like…before all this happened. The war, I mean. Y’know?”

Luna nodded sympathetically.

“It makes sense, Harry. You shouldn’t be ashamed of feeling this way,” Luna said kindly. “Would you like to fight with Draco again?”

Harry was a bit surprised. “No. I mean, no. Yeah. I don’t want to. But…”

“You’d like to engage with him again?”

Harry’s cheeks got even hotter. There was something about the way Luna said it that made Harry uncomfortable.

“Er, I guess.”

“Oh, look at the time! I promised Daddy that I’d help him plant new Snargaluff. I’m so sorry, Harry, but I’ve got to go.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Luna.”

She smiled dreamily. “I hope you have the opportunity to engage with Draco soon, Harry. It was lovely seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And with that, Luna skipped away, her basket swinging wildly from her arm. Harry watched her, a small smile on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, a lot is happening in my life. I've never written Luna before this fic so if she's OOC I apologize. Thanks for being patient, and thanks for all the comments/subs/kudos ❤
> 
> Tattoo references: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/95631192066167021/ and https://www.pinterest.com/pin/117726977738128562/

It was late October the first time Harry went to a meeting and the room smelled like cake. Harry remembered – Samuel had mentioned that his birthday was coming up at the last meeting.

“I understand it’s someone’s birthday tomorrow!” Kathy smiled brightly and turned to Samuel. “Your favorite is strawberry shortcake, right?”

“Yeah, it is,” Samuel said, a nervous smile on his face.

“I’ve made you one that we can all enjoy after today’s meeting,” Kathy said happily.

“Oh, wow,” said Samuel, looking even more nervous now. “Really, Kathy, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Kathy reassured. “Now, Samuel, if you’d like to start, please go ahead.”

“Yeah, of course,” Samuel smiled. He thought for a moment before speaking again. “Birthdays are always weird, aren’t they? Sort of bittersweet, sort of…I can’t believe I’ve made it this long. And I really can’t, honestly. It’s great cos I get to hear from people from all parts of my life and y’know, people have to pay attention to me.” This got an understanding laugh from much of the group.

Samuel gave a lopsided smile, but it faded slightly.

“But it’s also…hard to believe I made it 22 years. I don’t really like reflecting on the past but birthdays sort of force you to, don’t they? So I’ve got to think about all my mistakes and doubts and failures and all that, _and_ I’ve got the pressure of starting anew – how will I make this year better? Will I hold myself accountable to my own impossible standards again? What new challenges are waiting for me? Will I be just as anxious and miserable and scared this year as I was last year? So, erm…yeah.”

Many people were nodding solemnly. Harry tentatively reached out and placed a hand on Samuel’s shoulder. He turned, and seeing Harry, smiled slightly.

“Thank you for sharing, Samuel,” Kathy said softly.

Samuel nodded, though his eyes were trained on the floor.

Harry’s heart ached.

* * *

 

One of the blokes in group approached Harry while Samuel was talking to Kathy off to the side. Harry had first seen him the first time he went to a meeting – he was a black bloke with a wide smile and closely cropped hair. A few weeks ago, he had learned that his name was Damien and that he, too, was rather close with Samuel (in mental illness support group standards, at least).

“Hey, Harry, I know it’s a Wednesday night, but I wanted to know if you’d be interested in having a few drinks,” Damien said uncertainly, “Y’know, for Sam’s birthday.”

Harry blinked, processing. He had only spoken to Damien a few times, and Harry didn’t think he’d made that good of an impression.

“Er, yeah, that’d be great,” he said quickly, realizing Damien was still waiting for an answer.

Damien smiled.

“Fantastic. We’re going to head out after group’s over, alright?”

“Yeah, ok,” Harry answered, nodding nervously. “Er – who else is…?”

“Cait’s coming as well,” Damien said. At Harry’s confused look, he caught the attention of a thin white woman with blunt bangs. Harry thought he’d seen her speaking to Samuel before. “Oi, Cait!”

She turned and came over, a cup of coffee in her hand. She glanced at Harry for a second before addressing Damien.

“Yeah?”

“D’you wanna go out for a couple of drinks for Sam’s birthday?”

“Yeah, course,” she said, nodding. She then looked Harry up and down. “You’re Harry, right?”

“Er, yeah, nice to meet you,” he said, a bit intimidated by her judging eye.

She continued to look at him. There was a cig behind her ear and a silver hoop through the side of her nose.

“You’re here for mood things, yeah? And substance abuse?”

Harry was taken aback by her forthrightness – he’d gotten a bit more used to people speaking openly about themselves and their respective issues, but this was still off-putting.

“Sorry about her, she’s a bit of a bitch,” Damien said to Harry, which just surprised Harry even more.

“Shush it, you,” Cait said, thwacking Damien’s arm lightly, though she didn’t seem upset about it – the opposite, in fact. She turned back to Harry. “S’all right. No judgement here. I wanna kill myself too sometimes. Have too much coke sometimes. Mentally unstable at all times.”

She winked and gave a playful smirk.

Harry didn’t even know what to say. Luckily, he was saved in the nick of time by Samuel approaching the group. Damien smiled his wide smile and greeted Samuel with a pat on the back.

“Sam, man of the hour,” Damien said. “What do you say about all of us going out for drinks afterwards to celebrate?”

“Oh,” Samuel said, a smile on his face as he glanced around. “That’d be great, if you all want to.”

“Course we want to,” Damien said, rolling his eyes. “Wouldn’t have asked if we didn’t.”

“Right,” Samuel grinned. “Thanks, everyone.”

“Wait, could I invite one more?” Cait asked.

“Sure, who?” Samuel responded.

“That mysterious bloke, Draco,” she said, grinning as she nodded at Malfoy, who was across the room. “It’d be fun, wouldn’t it?”

Harry’s heart stuttered. Who did this Cait think she was?”

“Erm…” Samuel glanced over at Harry, unsure. Harry gave a noncommittal shrug.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, mate, not mine,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice even. “I’d be fine with it if you are.”

Samuel looked at Harry, something telling him that he wasn’t exactly convinced.

“He won’t even do anything. He’ll probably just stand there and be snotty,” Cait said, making her case to Samuel.

But Samuel wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, he was looking at Harry with raised eyebrows. _Well? Should he come or not?_

“I promise I won’t get in a bar fight with Malfoy if he does come,” Harry said.

“Oh, but I’m hoping that you do,” Cait said, smiling her wicked smile again.

Samuel chose to ignore this and instead told her, “Fine. Go invite him if you want to so badly.”

“Thanks, love!” Cait pecked Samuel’s cheek before walking off.

As she walked away, Samuel glanced at both Damien and Harry in turn.

“Do you think she fancies Draco or something?”

Damien laughed and shook his head. “If she does, she’s in for a disappointment. That bloke’s clearly gay.”

It was in unison that Harry and Samuel gave a loud _What_.

Damien laughed again. “Might just be a gay thing, but he’s very obviously only interested in men.”

Samuel stared at him, stared at Malfoy, then stared at Damien again. Harry’s head was spinning too much to do much of anything. Malfoy, gay?

“I mean; I reckon he could be but…are you sure?”

“Trust me, Sam.”

And then break was over.

* * *

 

While everyone was enjoying Kathy’s cake, Cait sidled up to Harry, Samuel, and Damien.

“Guess who’s joining us for drinks later?”

“Draco,” Samuel said, and when Cait nodded, he smiled kindly. “I look forward to it.”

She slinked away.

Though it was no longer the topic of conversation, Harry was still thinking about how Malfoy was supposedly gay. There were a lot of reasons that this supposed fact was so interesting. 1) How did he not know? 2) Really, after all those years in Hogwarts together. 3) Malfoy’s treatment towards him during their childhoods was a little more understandable. 4) Did Malfoy used to fancy him? 5) Did he used to fancy Malfoy? 6) Malfoy was, admittedly, extremely attractive in an annoying way.

There were probably more, but (only) these were at the forefront of Harry’s mind.

After thanking Kathy for the cake, the three men waited at the exit for Cait and Malfoy.

It was fascinating seeing them together. Malfoy’s curt, quiet mannerisms and refined dress; his pointy face and grey eyes looking down at the young woman who walked beside him. Cait’s trendy outfit, her discreetly colored hair, loud voice, and that sly smile.

“Ready all?” Cait asked as she strode up, Malfoy in tow.

“Thank you for letting me come, Samuel,” Malfoy said sincerely, looking him straight in the eye. “And again, happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Draco,” Samuel smiled. “Now come on, let’s go.”

They filed out of the room in a single line, Harry and Malfoy at the rear.

“Er, wait, Malfoy,” Harry said, stopping him abruptly.

The rest had already left the room. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Why was he so beautiful? _Not now._

“What happened to using my first name, Potter?”

Harry flushed. “Oh, right. Er, Draco. I just wanted to say that I really want to be civil – this is about Sam, not me and not you. Y’know?”

Malfoy regarded him for a second, an unreadable expression on his face, before nodding slightly.

“Great, erm, well – should we go?” Harry asked, nervously.

Malfoy nodded again.

They quickly caught up to Samuel, Damien, and Cait. The two men kept with their conversation, while Cait slowed to walk beside Harry and Malfoy.

“So, how’d you two meet?” she asked innocently.

Harry and Malfoy exchanged glances. Cait was obviously thinking about the row they had in the middle of group.

“School,” Harry answered. “We went to school together.”

“Ohhhh, interesting,” said Cait. “But you two didn’t especially like each other, yeah? And you still don’t.”

“Er, we’re trying to be civil…” Harry said, though he didn’t seem very sure of it himself. Why wasn’t Malfoy saying anything?  

“I don’t think you need to,” Cait replied. “I mean, I know Kathy wasn’t really fond of your ‘disagreement,’ but we’re supposed to get our emotions out, yeah? I reckon it’s better than faking and playing nice.”

“Well, Kathy’s the facilitator of group, not you,” said Malfoy before Harry could reply, “So I’m afraid I won’t be following your advice.”

“Formal as always,” smiled Cait, who didn’t seem at all discouraged by Malfoy snapping at her. She then rounded on Harry, her dark brown eyes glittering. “Unlike you. But you went to the same school?”

“Er –” started Harry, but Malfoy cut him off.

“It just so happens that people from different, well, upbringings can attend the same school, Cait,” Malfoy said. “Now can we move on?”

“Fine. But we’ll be back to revisit this subject later,” Cait assured him.  

She then looked ahead to Samuel and Damien, who were leading by about ten paces.

“Looks like we’re here, lads,” Cait flashed them a grin before hurrying to join the other two.

“Erm…she’s quite the character,” Harry said, glancing nervously at Malfoy.

He gave an affirmative hum, but didn’t say anything else.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets.

* * *

 

God, Harry didn’t remember the last time he had been this drunk.

It had to have been before Ron had given him a stern talk about Not Drinking to Relieve the Pain of Existence, because Harry was now very careful when drinking while in pleasant company. He didn’t want to end up completely sloshed and yelling about how he wanted to die in front of old classmates.

Point was, Harry was pissed and it felt _good_.

He flung an arm around Samuel, who wasn’t quite so intoxicated, but was definitely feeling the effect of alcohol in his blood.

“Thanks, Sam,” he slurred, looking up at Samuel’s amused face.

“Yeah, cor’, Harry,” Samuel said, before pausing and asking, “For what?”

“Just, y’know, for being my mate,” Harry explained. “For understanding and being nice and cool an’ all that…”

“Right back at you, mate,” Samuel said kindly, grinning widely. “You’re cool too, even if you’re…mysterious an’ all that.”

A heavy weight slowly permeated Harry’s chest through all the alcohol.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just – hard, I dunno –“

But before he could go any further with a messy explanation, Cait and Malfoy came stumbling forward. Cait had an arm around Malfoy’s body – Harry thought that she must’ve been aiming for his shoulders but she was too short to reach them. But what really grabbed Harry’s attention was the fact that there was a smile on Malfoy’s face. An actual smile.

“Alright, you lot?” Cait asked with that clever grin. Her eyes were shining.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Samuel said, returning her smile.

Cait glanced at Harry and then lunged forward, grabbing Samuel’s wrist.

“Come on, I need to ask you something,” she said to him, and then whispered exaggeratedly, “In private.”

“Oh, right, ok,” Samuel said before chugging the rest of his pint, slamming it down, and allowing himself to be pulled away.

And then Harry and Malfoy were left alone once again. Luckily, this time, they were pissed. Well, Harry was, anyway. But Malfoy had to be too, right? He looked happy for once (sorry, that was a shite thing to say). Harry soon realized that he was thinking too much, and Malfoy’s gaze was wandering to the other side of the bar.

Harry quickly downed his pint and set it down with a _clunk_ , causing Malfoy to jump slightly and look over at him.

“Want another drink, Ma – Draco?”

Malfoy eyed him, though there was no ice in his stare.

“Sure,” Malfoy said, and moved closer to the bar where Harry was sitting. “What’re you having?”

Harry pondered this for a moment before catching the attention of the bartender. He told him what he wanted, trying to keep eye contact with the tall man with perfect teeth, then turned back to Malfoy.

“So,” Malfoy said, finally taking a seat, “What did you get me?”

“You’ll see in a bit,” Harry responded with a smile.

Malfoy sighed. “Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s strong.”

“It is, I promise.”

Harry wobbled a bit in his chair; Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“You alright there, Potter?”

“Harry,” he said reflexively, “And yeah, I’m alright.”

“If you say so, Potter.”

“Harry,” he repeated.

The bartender approached and set down two Old Fashioneds.

“Merlin, really? An Old Fashioned?”

“I said it was strong, didn’t I?” Harry picked his up and Malfoy did too, albeit reluctantly. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They both took a sip and grimaced almost immediately.

“Yeah, that’ll get the job done,” Harry grinned.

Malfoy was still making a face like he had just stepped in dog shit, and Harry found it rather endearing. He was wearing some sort of fashionable European coat and that deep green scarf of his. His face was tinged a light pink and hair slightly awry. God, he was handsome.

“Call me a stereotypical ponce but I prefer my drinks fruity,” Malfoy was saying when Harry regained focus.

“So it’s true?” Harry blurted out. _Shit._

Malfoy looked like he was going to start an argument, but changed his mind and simply sighed.

“I don’t know who’s been spreading rumors about me, and I don’t really care to know, but yes, _Harry_ , I’m gay. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Er, sorry,” Harry said meekly. So it was true. Malfoy’s gay. “I mean – er, if it helps – I like blokes too. And birds. And everyone.”

Again, Malfoy sighed.

“I know. I reckon the entire wizarding community knows.”

Harry almost spit out his drink.

“Wha – how?”

“Do those ridiculous glasses not work?” Malfoy said in a bored tone of voice. He was swirling the straw in his drink rather than actually drinking it. “Pictures of your escapades have been published everywhere.”

Harry’s heart sunk. “Oh. Well…I try not to look at the _Prophet_ anymore. And I haven’t had any, er, escapades in a year.”

“What, you haven’t fucked anyone in a year?”

This time, Harry did spit out his drink. It dribbled pathetically down his chin and onto his shirt. Harry grabbed some napkins and dabbed at the front of it, his mind still on the ridiculous question Malfoy had just asked.

“I – _what_ , Malfoy?”

Malfoy smirked and took a sip, but his cool demeanor disappeared once he’d grimaced.

“You heard me."

“I mean,” Harry sputtered, “I don’t see how it’s any of your business-“

“Alright, no need to get all worked up.” Malfoy took a sip, smug eyes watching Harry.

The nerve of him. Harry had an angry chug of his Old Fashioned.

“It’s not as if I’m asking _you_ about your sex life, Malfoy,” Harry said suddenly, not being able to let it go.

“No need to get your knickers in a twist,” Malfoy replied. “It was just a question.”

“Pretty weird question,” Harry mumbled to himself.

They sat in silence for a bit. He’d moved onto a different stage of intoxicated – less mental, more physical. He felt kind of slow and sick, and knew the only way to get past it was to drink more.

With their lapse in silence, Harry could now hear distinct woops, laughs, and yells over the music and Malfoy’s smooth, sensuous voice. (Where the fuck did that come from?)

“So, er, what else has the _Prophet_ written about?” Harry said, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

Malfoy glanced sideways at him, and to Harry’s delight and surprise, his voice was slightly slurred when he spoke. _Was Malfoy a lightweight?_ Harry wondered eagerly.

“Nothing you talked about over in – y’know.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “That’s good.”

“Yes, I imagine it is,” Malfoy agreed.

“Malfoy…”

“It’s Draco now, remember?”

“Right, Draco…why that group? A…Muggle one?”

Malfoy’s grey eyes fixated on Harry’s own. He had a really nice face. An unbelievably nice face.

“You don’t really see any other kinds popping up, do you?” Malfoy sneered drunkenly. “What, you think I’d found a nice group in Hogsmeade, or Knockturn Alley, or, or – “

“Right, sorry,” Harry answered softly. _Of course_. “Foolish question.”

“Well, you _are_ a fool, aren’t you?” Malfoy said smugly.

Harry finished off his drink; the last sip of it stung a bit.

“Yeah, I am.”

He signaled the bartender over and ordered another drink. He needed to get over his slump.

“None for me?” asked Malfoy.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I think you’re alright for now. You’ve reverted back to being mean.”

“I like to think I’m always mean, thank you very much.”

He was (and Harry hated even thinking this) cute. Draco Malfoy was cute.

Harry suddenly felt very hot in the crowded pub, even though he’d taken his winter coat off earlier. Where was it, anyway? On the floor, probably. Harry pulled up the sleeves of his shirt and ran a hand through his hair.

The bartender served Harry his drink – a cheap shot of whiskey. Harry thanked him and immediately drank it down. He was grateful for the burn.

“What’s the occasion, Potter?” Malfoy said, and there was almost a smile in his voice.

“Haven’t been pissed in a while,” he answered truthfully. He’d already divulged his deepest, darkest secrets to Malfoy – what was a small truth?

“Yes, I’ve noticed there’s been a lot less of ‘wasted Potter pulls again’ in the papers,” Malfoy nodded.

“Ron made me stop. It was getting out of hand or something."

“What – were you an alcoholic?”

“Nah – well, maybe,” Harry thought for a moment. “But Dreamless Sleep was really the one that did it for me.”

There was a slight pause. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“You already know a lot about me, don’t you? By the way, some constructive criticism: you could share more, y’know. I, for one, would like to get to know you more, at least.”

Harry could have sworn Malfoy colored slightly, but perhaps it was just the lighting.

“Well,” Malfoy said, straightening his back as he did, “It turns out that I’m not as big-headed and self-important as some and don’t feel the need to overshare.”

Sober Harry might’ve gotten mad, but drunk Harry laughed instead. “It’s not oversharing, you prat, it’s literally group. You’re meant to share.”

“Whatever, Potter,” Malfoy mumbled.

Malfoy turned to look away as he forced his crisp shirtsleeves up, displaying…Harry blinked.

Where he expected to see the Dark Mark was instead a somehow delicate piece of art all in black and greys. Trees sprouted from a graceful transition of unmarked skin to a forest floor. The trees were of various heights and widths, all beautiful and elegant. In the middle of them all was the Dark Mark – it was faded compared to the fresh ink, but somehow, that made it even better. The branches and leaves seemed to move along the skull and snake, making it both the focal point and the background at once.

There was a little cough, and upon looking up, Harry realized that Malfoy had caught him staring. Harry’s face burned as he tried to meet Malfoy’s grey eyes. The blond’s facial expression was impossible to read.

“Erm – sorry, I um,” he stuttered, unsure of what to say.

There were a few tense moments before Malfoy stiffly said, “It’s alright, Potter.”

He didn’t pull down his sleeves like Harry expected him to, but instead left his forearms on display. Harry had trouble keeping his gaze away. It was so beautiful, how something so pure and elegant could come from something so evil. He’d never seen anything like it before. He itched to touch it, to touch Malfoy, but he was sure he’d get cursed if he even tried.

He had to get away.

“I – er, have to take a piss,” Harry mumbled before making a swift getaway.

He pushed his way through the crowd to the loo, slamming the door open and scaring a young man.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and made his way to the closest sink. He met his own tired eyes, wavering where he stood.

Now the only one in the loo, Harry turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, trying to shock himself out of his stupor. Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why was he so shaken? Was it Malfoy? His fucking tattoo? That shot? It didn’t make any sense. When did he ever make sense, though?

He jumped as he heard the door swing open; Harry turned and looked Malfoy straight in the eyes. They stared at each other, silent, the background noise of the pub halting the need for speech. But then the door was closed again, and it was just the two of them in the bathroom.

_What was happening?_

He could hear the muffled rhythm of David Bowie’s _Heroes_ playing from inside the pub. He could hear his own stifled breaths, but not Malfoy’s.

_Talk. Speak. Say something!_

“What are you doing here?” Harry finally said, feeling foolish as the words came out of his mouth.

Malfoy’s tongue was tied as well, it seemed, for he didn’t say anything in response.

It felt like a dream. Like it wasn’t real. Harry didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to break the spell, this strange place where Draco Malfoy was just standing there, staring at him without menace, the harsh lighting emphasizing his marble-like features. The high cheekbones, pointy nose, and those perfect lips. His sleeves were still pushed up, leaving that tattoo partly visible.

Harry licked his lips. Malfoy’s eyes darted down to them, the pink tinge of his face becoming more pronounced. And then, even though his mind screamed not to, he moved closer. Malfoy’s eyes snapped back to Harry’s own, but Harry kept walking. With his body on autopilot, he finally came face-to-face with Malfoy.

He could see the individual eyelashes on Malfoy’s face, how the ends of his teeth were visible with his lips parted like that, how – Harry was suddenly pulled forward and his mouth crashed onto Malfoy’s, those beautiful hands clutching his shoulders. Harry kissed back fiercely, bringing his own hands to touch Malfoy’s face, that gorgeous face. Malfoy’s tongue entered Harry’s mouth, and Harry responded hastily with his own.

Harry’s hands roamed – from Malfoy’s cheeks to his hair to his back. Wanting more, Harry pushed him up against the wall, firmly placing his knee between Malfoy’s legs to keep him there. Kissing Malfoy was like something Harry’d never felt before – intoxicating, drawing Harry in and holding him tight. He finally understood the allure of snogging, Malfoy’s scent and feel enveloping him.

Malfoy’s breaths were hot against Harry’s face as he went to suck on Malfoy’s neck, his own heart thudding loudly under his chest. He heard Malfoy give a little sigh as he did, making Harry’s cock twitch. Harry bit tentatively into the soft skin and Malfoy gave a little _oh_ in response. Encouraged, Harry bit him harder. This time, Malfoy tugged on Harry’s hair and mumbled something unintelligible. Harry kissed him softly in the same place and came up to meet Malfoy’s eyes, his whole body burning with desire and nerves.

Harry opened his mouth, though he had no idea what to say.

Malfoy pressed his finger to Harry’s lips, his pupils dilated and breaths ragged.

“No. No need,” he said, and ushered them into a stall.

There, Malfoy kissed him more as his hand rubbed against Harry’s hard cock over his jeans. Harry impatiently untucked Malfoy’s shirt, allowing him to freely run his hands over Malfoy’s smooth skin. When Malfoy began to stroke harder, Harry let out a hiss and gripped Malfoy’s arse.

“You like that, don’t you?” Malfoy murmured, his eyes glittering as he watched Harry.

“I’d like it more if you’d actually get in there,” Harry panted.

“Is that right?” That fucking smirk appeared on his face.

“ _Yes_ , Malfoy, Christ,” Harry groaned, his cock aching to be touched.

Malfoy unzipped Harry’s trousers, finally letting Harry's throbbing cock out in the open. Hard and swollen, Harry gasped as Malfoy took it in his palm. God, he was so fucking hot; that masculine yet graceful hand taking control, its arm covered in dark ink. Malfoy expertly slid the pre-come over Harry’s cock, and even that was heaven to Harry.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed.

“It really has been a while, hasn’t it?” Malfoy asked smoothly.

“Shut up,” Harry said, closing his eyes.

Malfoy pressed his warm body up against Harry, his scent overpowering Harry’s senses. Harry grasped at Malfoy’s arse as he slowly began to stroke up and down. Malfoy picked up the pace, continuing to move his hand in varying motions and speeds, incredibly perceptive to what Harry liked best. Harry quivered at Malfoy’s touch, overwhelmed by just how _good_ it felt.

He needed to do more, needed to reciprocate.

Harry opened his eyes and hurriedly undid the zipper of Malfoy’s trousers; he was delighted to see Malfoy’s cock spring forward, just as hard as Harry’s. It was long, though not as wide as his own, and surrounded by white blond curls.

“Are you just going to stare at it?” asked Malfoy, slightly breathless.

Harry took it in his hand; it seemed to fit perfectly. He stroked it slowly and gently at first, and when Malfoy urged him _faster_ , he did so.

Their breaths grew rapid as they continued, the two of them pressed together in the tiny bathroom stall. Harry felt out of his head, his mind, his body – he could hardly believe this was real. With a half-laugh, he moved to kiss Malfoy hard, his mouth working desperately as Malfoy gave a little sigh. He bit Malfoy’s lip and pulled, causing Malfoy to stroke faster.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, “Yes, like that, Draco.”

“Yeah?” Malfoy’s voice was barely above a whisper.

He picked up his own pace, wanting Malfoy to feel every bit as good as he did. It seemed to work, Harry thought, by the way Malfoy closed his eyes and bit his own lip. How was it possible for someone to be so –

“Beautiful,” he murmured aloud, half by accident but he didn’t care – Malfoy seemed to like it.

He knew he was getting close; his entire body felt charged, full, and it was faster than he would’ve liked but he couldn’t stop it – he came into Malfoy’s hand with a gasp. Harry faltered only for a second before returning at full speed, wanting Malfoy to come too. It was just a few more moments until he did, panting heavily with a dazed look on his face.

Harry wanted to kiss Malfoy again but he didn’t know if he could. But fuck it – the exhilaration, endorphins, and alcohol all culminated into him being someone he hadn’t been in a while: reckless.

He pulled Malfoy close once again and kissed him hard, sighing contentedly at the softness of his lips. To his delight (and surprise), Malfoy kissed back, though briefly.

“Come on, Potter,” he said when he stepped away. “We’ve got to go.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “Right.”

The zipped themselves up and exited the stall, Malfoy in the lead. Malfoy washed his hands, his face steady as Harry's cum swirled down the sink. Harry's entire body felt hot as he mirrored Malfoy, washing his hands as well. When they were done, Malfoy opened the bathroom door and made to leave when they were ambushed by Cait.

“Alright, lads?” she asked, a knowing smirk on her face.

Not to stereotype, but if Harry had to sort her, she’d be in Slytherin.

“Hello, Cait,” Malfoy said smoothly. He looked over her head, peering into the crowd. “Where are the others?”

“Oh, they’ve both left,” Cait said. “They regret not being able to say goodbye.”

“As do we, I’m sure,” Malfoy glanced back at Harry momentarily.

“What were you two up to, anyway?”

“Potter unfortunately had one drink too many,” Malfoy said, genuinely sounding regretful. “And of course, being the caring individual that I am, I had to help him.”

Harry shrugged when Cait looked at him. “I got too ambitious. Anyway, I’ve really got to get home, I’m knackered…”

“Yeah, alright, see you next week then,” she replied, making it obvious she didn’t really believe them.

“Are you ok getting home?” Malfoy asked, surprising Harry with his thoughtfulness (or maybe Harry was just thoughtless).

Cait rolled her eyes. “Worry about your boy, not me.”

“He’s not my boy,” Malfoy said firmly, but Cait was already walking away, disappearing into the crowd.

Malfoy gave a little grunt, took Harry’s arm ( _with his tattooed one! shut up_ ), and said, “Come on.”

Harry obeyed, following Malfoy as they weaved through the crowd. Finally, they made it to the exit and Malfoy released him once they were outside. Still a little overwhelmed, Harry took a deep breath. The fresh air was soothing on his skin and a good change from pub air. He glanced at Malfoy, who seemed to be doing the same.

So was he just supposed to ignore the fact that they had gotten each other off not five minutes ago? He didn’t really remember how this worked – this pulling thing.

“Well, er,” Harry stammered, wanting to break the silence, “Thanks, I ‘spose. Um…right. Bye.”

“Christ, Potter, you don’t really think I’m going to leave you to go home like this, do you?”

“I’m only a walk away,” Harry said, pointing vaguely in the direction where he thought home was.

“Oh,” said Malfoy, his mouth turning into a frown.

“Yeah, so, er…guess I’ll see you next week?” he said, though it turned into a question.

Malfoy’s lips in a flat line, he nodded once.

“Next week.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

 

"Ginny," began Harry.

"What happened?" she asked immediately. After all these years, after all they've been through together, after all Harry had put her through, Ginny knew him all too well.

They were sat in Ginny’s flat – clean, sort of minimalistic, with open windows and little flower pots along the windowsills. Artistically scattered about were articles and photographs from past games, little trophies and souvenirs as a reminder of her accomplishments. Ginny herself was wearing an overly large sweater and her hair was wild, like she’d just finished flying (but no, she’d just gotten out of bed, thanks to Harry’s panicked firecall).

"Er. Um, you know how I've been going to group, right?"

"Yeah, Ron mentioned it to me," she said, and at Harry's frown she said, "I'm his sister, Harry. And though it can be hard to tell, he really does have genuine feelings."

"I know, I know," sighed Harry. "Right. Anyway, I've been going to group and there's been...a development."

"A development?" she raised her eyebrows.

"With someone who's also in group."

"As in...?"

"As in...”

There was no choice. He just had to spit it out.

“We gave each other handjobs in a public loo," Harry said very quickly, his face heating up an extraordinary amount.

Ginny's mouth fell open, her previously tired eyes now glittering with excitement and intrigue.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, scandalized. “Merlin, I don’t even know what to say! Or ask. Ok…um…d’you actually know their name?”

“ _Yes_ , Ginny,” he said, slightly annoyed but honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He added, “He’s a he, by the way.”

“A Muggle, I’m guessing?”

“No.”

Her eyes grew even wider somehow.

“What, a wizard?”

“No, a –“ He couldn’t come up with a witty retort in time, for Ginny asked,

“Do I know him?”

Harry nibbled his bottom lip. Then nodded slowly.

Ginny stood up out of her barstool.

“No!”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed.

Ginny sat back down.

“Who is it?” she asked eagerly, leaning forward.

“I can’t tell you,” Harry answered, though he desperately wanted to.

Ginny accepted this with grace, though he could tell she wanted to know.

“So let me get this straight. You jerked off a wizard in a loo. The wizard in question is someone who just happens to go to the _same Muggle group_ , and is also someone I know.”

Harry nodded.

“What happened afterwards?”

“It was weird,” said Harry ( _of course_ muttered Ginny). “I just sort of…went home. We didn’t mention it or anything after we left the pub. I didn’t know what to do.”

“This happened yesterday?”

Harry nodded.

“Do you want it to happen again?”

Harry hesitated. Did he? Yes, the sex was incredible, Malfoy was beautiful and snarky and witty and made him feel alive but he was still Malfoy. Was it even possible that Malfoy would want anything to do with him (other than drunken handjobs)?

“I reckon…yeah. But I don’t know if he does,” Harry said slowly.

Ginny had a little frown on her face.

“Harry, you’re a wonderful person,” she said, and when Harry rolled his eyes, she continued, “Really, you are. You’re strong and caring and compassionate, and what’s even more incredible is that you’re still all this after – everything. If he doesn’t want anything to happen again, it’s his loss, honestly.”

Even though Harry brushed this all off (how could he be a ‘wonderful person’ when he was actually the worst person in the world?), a small part of him warmed inside.

“Thanks, Ginny,” he said softly, surprised to see that he was actually moved.

The front door opened then, and both Harry and Ginny jumped and turned to see who it was.

“Luna?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Oh, hello, Harry!” she greeted brightly, and entered Ginny’s flat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Harry glanced over at Ginny, whose freckled face had become rather red.

“Luna, um, what are you doing here?” she asked as Luna came over to her.

“I realized I’d forgotten my favorite quill here, and doing research feels quite different without it,” Luna said, now threading her fingers through Ginny’s long locks. Ginny blushed deeper. “But I regret interrupting your conversation. Harry, are you feeling better? Ginny can always make me feel better when I’m not feeling well.”

“Er – “

“I’m dating Luna,” Ginny suddenly yelled, brown eyes wide as she stared at Harry, then Luna, then back at Harry.

“I know,” replied Luna.

“Yeah, er, I can see that,” Harry said. He glared at Ginny, who shrugged sheepishly. “Since when?”

“Two months,” Luna chirped.

“Wow. Well, congrats.”

“Thanks,” Ginny mumbled.

“Harry, have you engaged with Draco?” Luna suddenly asked, and now it was Harry’s turn to be embarrassed.

Ginny’s eyebrows raised considerably. “Engaged?”

“Yes, I’ve _talked_ to Malfoy,” Harry said, carefully emphasizing the most important word, glancing over at Ginny to see if she was convinced.

“Harry, I swear to Merlin I’ll kill you if you’ve been talking about Draco sodding Malfoy this entire time,” Ginny said lowly.

Harry stared down at the table.

“I have. It’s Malfoy.”

“You could have just told me!” Ginny exclaimed.

“It’s meant to be confidential,” Harry retorted, crossing his arms.

“Well, it’s too late now,” Ginny scowled. She looked up at Luna. “Did you know about this, love?”

“About what?” she asked, a curious smile on her face.

“Harry’s been giving bloody handjobs to Malfoy!”

“Just one,” Harry interjected.

“I’m glad you had the chance to engage with him, Harry,” Luna said kindly.

“Luna – he’s been giving _handjobs_ to Malfoy,” Ginny repeated, as if Luna had misheard her.

“Just one,” Harry also repeated, so Luna knew that it was just one.

“Well,” Luna smiled, “As long as it was consensual, I’m very happy for them.”

“Thanks Luna,” Harry said meekly.

“But no, I didn’t know Harry’s relationship with Draco had progressed,” Luna told Ginny as she intertwined her fingers with Ginny’s. Harry looked away – he never thought hand-holding could be so intimate or gentle. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?”

Ginny stared at him for a moment before sighing.

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed, smiling slightly. “He does.”

* * *

 

Saturday morning – brunch with Ron and Hermione.

Harry wondered if Ginny had said anything to Ron, but judging by the way he was greeted when he walked in (normally), he figured she hadn’t.

“Harry, could you help me with this?” Hermione called, shaking Harry out of his thoughts.

“Yup.”

Harry made his way over to where Hermione was cutting various vegetables. She handed him a knife and an onion, and he went to work.

“You could just use magic,” Ron commented from where he sat.

“It tastes different,” Hermione insisted, and Ron rolled his eyes.

“I have to agree with Hermione,” Harry grinned. “Sorry, mate.”

“More work for you,” Ron shrugged.

They sat down to eat fifteen minutes later, the fresh omelets steaming and smelling lovely.

While they ate, Harry considering bringing up the revelation that Ginny and Luna were girlfriends now. Although, he supposed, they might already know and Harry was out of the loop. Nevertheless, he wanted to know. And Ginny didn’t say they were keeping it a secret or anything.

“So, I went to visit Ginny a couple days ago,” Harry started, watching their faces carefully as he spoke. They both continued eating, listening with interest. He continued, “And I learned something surprising.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “She’s in a relationship.”

“Yes, I figured,” Hermione said, as Ron nodded.

“What – you both knew?”

“She’s my sister, mate,” Ron said. “I can tell whether she’s dating someone or not.”

“She mentioned going on a date about a month ago,” Hermione explained, “And she’s got a bit of a glow now.”

“Oh,” said Harry, who was suddenly feeling like a rubbish friend.

“Did you find out who it is?” Ron asked. “The mystery bloke?”

“Mystery girl, actually,” Harry replied.

Ron froze mid-bite and shook his head before saying, “I swear, something happened to you two when you were dating. Some sort of bi curse.”

Harry threw a bit of pepper at him; Ron dodged it skillfully.

“So who is it?” Hermione asked, throwing a look at Ron.

“Luna.”

Hermione squealed, and Ron let out a loud, excited laugh.

“Lovegood?”

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful! Were they adorable together? I’m sure they were. I’ve got to send them an owl immediately.”

Hermione stood and rushed away, no doubt to write a long letter of congratulations. Ron watched her walk away, a fond smile on his face. He drifted away, his gaze still on the spot where Hermione had disappeared into their bedroom. He seemed to remember that Harry was there, and turned, his ears turning red.

“Listen, mate,” Ron said quietly, his eyes glancing over to the bedroom. “I’m uh.” He scratched his head. “Thinking about proposing to Hermione.”

His blue eyes were wide as he watched for Harry’s reaction which was: shocked happiness.

“Ron! That’s amazing!”

Harry jumped out of his seat to hug him, patting him on the back enthusiastically. Ron stood to hug him back, squeezing tighter than he usually did.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his ears redder than before.

“Wow,” Harry marveled, this fact slowly sinking in. “Wow.”

“Yeah, uh, don’t say anything to her, alright?” Ron asked.

“No, course not.”

“D-d’you think she’ll say yes?”

Harry nearly laughed. “That’s not even a question, mate. There’s no way she wouldn’t.”

“Thanks,” Ron said, a large smile on his face.

“Have you, y’know, planned it out yet?”

Ron shook his head, and as he was about to elaborate, Hermione walked in, curiosity in her eyes.

“What are you two yelling about?”

“Nothing,” they answered at once.

Unconvinced, Hermione shook her head but simply said, “Boys.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mental illness: 1  
> Me: 0
> 
> WARNING: self-harm mention. 
> 
> Enjoy

On Wednesday, Harry apologized to Samuel for not being able to say goodbye properly.

“No worries,” said Samuel (who was still too good of a human being to be friends with Harry). “I just figured you had too much to drink.”

Harry gave an uncomfortable laugh. Merlin, he was a rubbish friend, having sex in the loo when he was supposed to be celebrating his friend’s birthday. Wasn’t it Harry who said that the night was about Samuel, not him or Draco?

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to smile. “That last shot did me in.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Samuel grinned.

Rubbish friend.

Group started then, and Harry chanced making eye contact with Draco. The slightest quirk of the lips betrayed Draco’s usual cool exterior. Harry could barely bite down a smile as he focused his attention on Kathy.

“Good evening, all. Who would like to start us off today?” she asked, her eyes scanning the group.

Draco caught Harry’s eyes before clearing his throat softly.

"I would," Draco said suddenly. His eyes skimmed the group impassively. Harry was surprised (and so were many others), and nearly leaned forward in his seat. Kathy nodded, and he continued. "I had a panic attack a few days ago. It'd been a while since my last so this one left me a bit shaken."

"Do you know want triggered it?" Kathy asked softly.

“Yes,” Draco answered. “I found a letter my father had written me years ago while sorting through some old things. I knew I’d find some reminders of my past, but I wasn’t prepared for something like that.”

“Was this at your mother’s house?”

He gave a little sigh that might have shaky.

“Yes, I’d gone to visit her. I want to work on my fears or whatever,” he gave a little scowl at this, “And I believed that my old home would be a good place to start.”

“I’m very proud of you, Draco,” said Kathy in a way that wasn’t patronizing.

Malfoy turned his chin up infinitesimally. Harry nearly smiled.

“Yes, well, I’ll be more impressed when I can go in my childhood bedroom without breaking down.”

“You made progress, Draco,” Kathy assured. “It’s not easy to face your fears like that.”

Draco’s eyes were fixed on Kathy. “Thank you.”

* * *

At break, Draco approached Samuel and Harry. He nodded his head at them in greeting. Harry mirrored him, his eyes taking in the snug turtleneck underneath his coat, lightly tousled hair, and the heavy bags under his eyes. Harry wanted to kiss him.

“Alright, Draco?” said Samuel, bringing Harry back to earth.

“Yes, thank you,” he responded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye last week. I was preoccupied.”

He glanced over at Harry, whose cheeks warmed as he swiftly looked down at the floor.

“No worries. Harry told me what had happened.”

“Good,” Draco said. Harry glanced at him, who matched his gaze. _How was it possible for someone to be so beautiful?_ ran through his head for what felt like the thousandth time. “Excuse me, Samuel, I was wondering if I could have a word with Harry.”

Harry was so distracted by the way his first name sounded when it so casually came out of Draco’s mouth that he almost missed Samuel’s smile and ‘of course.’

Draco ushered Harry away from the table of sweets to somewhere where no one could overhear them.

“Er – why?” Harry managed to get out before Draco fixed his grey eyes on him, silencing him immediately. It was like he was back in that bathroom, being stared at by those intoxicating eyes with the smell of sex sharp in the air. He could almost hear Bowie in the background.

“Potter, I’ve got quite enough going on in my life,” Draco announced, somehow managing to look down at Harry even though he was only a few inches taller than him, “So I’m certain you’ll understand my asking this: what is this to you?”

“I – what?”

Draco closed his eyes for a second.

“Must I spell it out? I’m asking if this was one of your _escapades_ or if it actually meant something,” he hissed.

Harry nearly gasped, a bit hurt – though truthfully, he deserved it.

“No, no it’s not an escapade,” Harry sputtered. “I swear. Draco, I uh, don’t really know…I mean, what I mean is, it meant more to me than that. You mean more to me…than that.”

There was a hint of relief on Draco’s face. He cleared his throat. “Alright.”

“Right,” said Harry. And then, “And thanks for sharing. Y’know…if you remember what I said.”

Draco caught on; his cheeks colored slightly.

“Of course. I’m not the type to forget things while drunk. And you’re welcome, though it wasn’t for you.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he believed him, but he gave an affirmative hum anyway.

“Er, so, I’ll see you afterwards?” Harry asked, feeling his face go hot but determined to keep eye contact.

Draco seemed a bit surprised but nodded, a corner of his mouth pulling into a smile.

Harry grinned.

* * *

After group was over, Harry bid goodbye to Samuel and hung back outside, waiting against one of the brick walls of the library exterior. A few moments later, Draco exited the building, Cait in tow.

“Good night lads.” Cait winked and walked away, her hips swaying in the dark.

“She’d be a Slytherin,” Harry mumbled to himself.

Draco gave a little laugh. “Yes, she would be.”

Harry stared at him in the moonlight; it reflected from his nearly white hair and hungry eyes. His cheekbones were more prominent than usual, the lights casting elegant shadows across his face. His lips were slightly parted, and Harry wanted to know what they tasted like tonight.

Desire overtook him and he stepped forward to kiss Draco, to kiss those lips and run his hands through that silky hair. Draco made a little noise as he kissed back fervently, his hands curling around the cloth of Harry’s hoodie and pulling him in even closer.

Draco pushed his tongue eagerly into Harry’s mouth and Harry responded back in kind, feeling lightheaded in the best kind of way. Harry wanted him desperately, and being pressed up against Draco’s lean body and feeling his hot, heavy breaths against his mouth just made Harry want him more. Harry pulled away, his hand still on Draco’s face, tracing his bottom lip with his thumb.

"Wanna come back to mine?" Harry asked breathlessly, trying to keep the fear out of his face.

Draco blinked at him, then nodded wordlessly.

Harry held out his arm, having no patience to walk all the way back home. Draco took it and Harry Apparated a second later. He regained his composure and looked over at Draco, who was glancing around, a puzzled expression on his face.

Oh. The Fidelius charm. Harry took Draco’s arm again and they walked towards 12 Grimmauld Place. When Harry reached the first step, the earth began to tremble.

He watched as Draco watched 12 Grimmauld Place appear. His lips parted, his eyes enraptured as finally the old house settled in between the two Muggle ones.

"C'mon," Harry murmured, leading Draco up the rest of the steps.

Draco took in the house, not even watching where he was going, his eyebrows pinching together.

"This is...the Black house."

"Yeah," said Harry. He unlocked and opened the front door. "Sirius left it to me."

And then Kreacher appeared, his small mouth wrinkling into a surprised smile.

"Master Harry has a guest, Kreacher sees," he said, waddling forward towards Draco. He bowed deeply; Draco inclined his head in a slight nod. "Master Malfoy, it has been years since you have come to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"Yes, um," Draco said, his mouth in an uncertain frown. "It has."

“Are the young masters hungry?” Kreacher asked, his eyes shifting to Harry.

"You hungry, Draco?" asked Harry.

He shook his head.

"No, thanks. We'll be excusing ourselves now, Kreacher," Harry told the little elf.

Kreacher bowed and took his leave.

Harry half said 'come on,' and Draco followed Harry up the stairs.

He led them into the bedroom he'd been using - one that hadn’t been personalized. For a while he debated upon sleeping in Sirius' old room but he couldn't bear it. The thought of displacing any of Sirius' things (any more than they already had been) made Harry’s stomach turn.

Harry closed the door behind him, letting Draco enter first. Harry went to sit on the bed, and when Draco was still standing in the middle of the room, his eyes taking it in, Harry said, "You can sit down."

Draco took his coat off before joining Harry on the bed, though his mind was still elsewhere. As heated as their exchange was just ten minutes earlier, an uneasy feeling had replaced Harry’s lust, settling in Harry’s chest like a heavy stone. Draco noticed Harry watching him and colored slightly.

"Sorry, I'm just a bit surprised. Why are you living here?"

Harry shrugged. "I mean...it's the last tangible reminder of Sirius. And y'know...it's cheap. And Kreacher’s quite fond of me," he tried to joke.

Draco simply frowned. "But how?"

Harry then realized why Draco was so shocked - he had just spoken about how he could hardly bear to go to the Manor, his old home. He got panic attacks from finding old letters, while Harry welcomed reminders of the people who once lived here. Sure, this place reminded Harry of bad times, but of good ones too. Besides, what other home did he have? (Well Hogwarts, but he couldn’t bloody well live there).

"Don't really have any place else to go," Harry said, unsure of how to articulate his thoughts. Draco’s frown deepened. "Where do you live, anyway?"

“I rent a flat,” answered Draco. “A Muggle one.”

“Oh,” Harry said, and it all made a little more sense.

He wanted to take Draco’s hand in his, comfort him somehow, but he feared Draco’s reaction. His eyes flickered down at it, and Draco caught him; his face grew guarded.

“Anyway,” Draco cleared his throat, his grey eyes now bright with intent, “I was under the impression that we came here to get _away_ from the oversharing.”

Harry was interested in hearing more, but the heat of Draco’s gaze was enough to drive his curiosity away (for the time being, at least).

“It’s not oversharing, you prat,” Harry murmured before leaning in to kiss those smirking lips.

There was a sharp intake of breath as Draco kissed back hard, his hand moving to grip Harry’s bicep. Harry deepened the kiss and soon it was all open-mouthed and desperate and Draco was so warm against him and had he ever felt anything so perfect in his life?

Harry pulled Draco down on top of him easily; Draco gave a devious smirk as he let Harry force him down. He made himself comfortable, his lean body straddling Harry’s own, grinding against Harry’s hips and throbbing cock. Their kissing grew more heated, Harry grabbing Draco’s tight arse hard and Draco just grinding harder.

“Take it off,” Harry growled, and Draco obeyed, unzippering his trousers and pushing them down low enough to reveal his high-quality silk pants. Harry gave a short laugh. “You ponce.”

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco muttered as he pulled his trousers off completely.

Before Harry could say anything, he undid Harry’s own and Harry lifted his lower body up so Draco could pull them off too. Harry had to pause a moment and appreciate the view of Draco Malfoy in a black turtleneck and white pants straddling him.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “See something you like?”

“That’d be an understatement,” Harry murmured. “Take that off too.”

Draco gave a surprised smile but complied, smoothly taking off his turtleneck in one motion and revealing more pale skin marred by long, thin scars and the tattoo/Dark Mark.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. Harry’d done this to him. He’d sliced him open and stood helpless as he bled everywhere. Harry traced one of the scars with a trembling finger, which ran from a collarbone down to his bellybutton. Draco watched, his hair falling in his eyes, expression indiscernible. Finally, he took Harry’s hand and lowered it, his mouth set in a frown.

“You don’t need to get all weepy, Potter.”

“I’m not,” Harry said stiffly, though he already was.

He had almost killed Draco.

“You are,” Draco disagreed. “Don’t bother trying to lie to me.”

When Harry didn’t respond, Draco sighed exaggeratedly and slid off Harry. Harry sat up.

“They’re just scars. Old wounds, marks…we both have our fair share of those, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry just stared at him, feeling rather hollow. Draco paused, frowned, then lifted his marked arm, stretching it out towards Harry. He eyed it curiously as he always did.

“Potter,” Draco said, and when Harry met his eyes, he continued, “Listen carefully. I won’t be talking about this again because I don’t like to. But I will, just this once. After the war, I hated the Mark. It served as a reminder of who I was, what I did, etcetera. So one day, I took a knife and cut into it.”

Harry felt sick to his stomach as Draco’s words set in. His mouth dried up and he blinked, first at Draco’s impassive face, and then at the Mark. It didn’t look like there were any scars in it; the Mark was simply faded. There was no sign that Draco had ever taken a knife to his own skin.

“It didn’t do anything,” Draco continued, his voice fainter. “It bled, but when it healed, it healed completely. There weren’t any scars left over to show what I did. I tried several times, but it couldn’t be changed. So I thought I had to live with it. I kept it covered all the time. I was ashamed and angry and I felt ill every time I looked at it and so finally I just figured I’d distract myself from it. If I couldn’t get rid of it, replace it. So I did. Life…creation, over death.” He flushed a little bit, and lowered his bare arm. “It’s ludicrous, but there you have it.”

Harry didn’t even realize the tears in his own eyes until he blinked. They rolled down his cheeks but all Harry could do was sit there, feeling even more hollow than he did before. Draco wiped them away with gentle fingers, a matter-of-fact expression on his face.

“I never knew you were such a wuss.”

“Draco…”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Draco told him. “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Harry nodded, worrying his lip.

“So you see,” Draco continued, “I don’t care. I can’t, truthfully, but when I look at these,” he ran his hand over his bare chest, “I try to see them as old marks. I try not to dwell on the past. I’ve spent too long doing that, so I just…move on.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not,” Draco assured him, “And Merlin knows it isn’t. But it’s what I have to do.”

“Well,” Harry said, and cleared his throat. “I’m still sorry for what I did…in sixth year. I swear to God I didn’t know what that curse did.”

“It’s all right,” said Draco. “Compared to the rest of that year, getting sliced up in the toilets was nothing.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, and settled on, “Er.”

Draco rolled his eyes and smiled the slightest amount. “Eloquent as ever. Now, can we continue?”

“Continue…?”

“Use your brain, Potter. I generally don’t get undressed for no reason.”

Harry felt his face heat up as he remembered where he was, and why, and with who.

“Right,” he said. And then he realized his problem. Apparently talking about trauma made Harry lose his erection. He said shamefully, “But I, er, kind of lost it.”

Draco didn’t skip a beat. “I can help you with that.”

He then proceeded to take Harry’s face in his hands and kiss him gently, his soft lips heaven to Harry and Harry kissed back, putting everything into it, wanting to show Draco just how sorry he was ( _sorry sorry sorry_ ) and he ran his hands over Draco’s chest, skimming over everything in his reach, marveling at just how _perfect_ he was. Their kiss deepened, and once again it was open-mouthed but somewhat calmer – less desperate and more appreciative. They moved in unison, neither too fast nor too slow.

 _This was good_ , thought Harry. _This is right_.

Draco pressed his soft lips to Harry’s neck before sucking gently, swirling his tongue and eliciting a soft moan from Harry. He held onto Draco tighter, fingers pressing into the other man’s back as Harry felt himself yielding and his cock hardening. Draco trailed his tongue up the side of Harry’s neck and Harry shuddered.

“Wait,” murmured Harry, and he took his glasses off, tossing them onto the nightstand.

“This too,” Draco said, his lips curling upwards as he fingered Harry’s hoodie.

Harry complied, tearing it off and letting it fall off the side of the bed, and did the same to his shirt right after. Draco’s eyes scanned his body hungrily, making Harry feel ridiculous and embarrassed but pleased all the same. Draco all but leaped onto Harry, their near naked bodies grinding together as they kissed eagerly, their heavy breaths loud in the otherwise silent room. Harry grabbed Draco’s tight arse, his fingernails digging into the firm flesh. Draco sucked and licked his way down Harry’s chest, his tongue flicking at Harry’s hard nipple. Harry let out a restless moan; he was definitely hard now.

“You’re so _aggravating_ ,” Draco murmured in a voice that went straight to Harry’s cock, and Harry let out a breathy laugh. He stopped. “What?”

“Only you’d use a word like aggravating during a time like this.”

Draco cocked his head and Merlin help him, Harry wanted to kiss that confused look off his face. “It was a compliment.”

“Oh, well, thanks,” Harry said, “But could you get back to _that_.”

“What, this?” Draco asked innocently, betrayed only by his wicked smirk and the fact that he had grasped Harry’s cock through his pants.

Harry gave a loud hiss but Draco didn’t stop; instead he started rubbing, _hard_ , and Harry couldn’t do anything but writhe.

“Christ,” he panted. “Didn’t you ever hear of easing into it?”

“You don’t like it?” came Draco’s silky voice.

He was driving Harry mad with all this teasing, this faux-innocence. Harry needed him to do _more_ ; hands could only do so much.

“Of course I do you prat,” Harry groaned. He grabbed hold of Draco’s hair, pulling it so he’d meet his gaze. “Need more though.”

Draco’s eyes glittered as he gave a devilish smirk and slowly withdrew Harry’s cock from his pants. And then, so slowly it made Harry groan, Draco licked the length of it from the base to the head, keeping eye contact with him the whole time. When he reached the head, he licked his lips and took him whole, his hot mouth sliding down the length easily. Harry trembled and knocked his head back, hardly containing the hiss that threatened to escape his lips.

Harry pushed Draco’s head down again and Draco obeyed, his fingernails digging into Harry’s thighs as he sucked earnestly. Harry moaned and he fisted Draco’s soft hair, not caring that his palms were sweaty. Draco’s mouth was tight and warm around his cock, Draco’s tongue weaving and sliding up and down it.

His back arched, overwhelmed with pleasure, and Draco just sucked harder – Harry could imagine those shining eyes, deliciously malevolent and guarded and _God_ he was so hot Draco Malfoy was sucking him off right now he was so beautiful and he felt so good his mouth his lips his teeth his tongue.

“Draco –“

Harry was dizzy with ecstasy, his eyes fluttering closed as Draco continued to suck his cock like it was what he was made to do. He made little noises as he did it too, as if he couldn’t get enough of it, which was unlikely but it made Harry go wild all the same.

And then Draco slowly slid his mouth off Harry and murmured, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Harry opened his eyes promptly, meeting Draco’s own. “God, yes.”

Draco snaked forward until their noses were inches apart; his pale face came in focus and it was smirking haughtily.

“Good,” he said, his voice silky smooth.

He pushed Harry’s legs apart with firm hands, exposing his hole. Normally, Harry would’ve been self-conscious in such a vulnerable position but right now he was just filled with a desperate need to, well, be filled.

“Do you have lube?”

Harry pointed at the bedside drawer; Draco got it wordlessly and uncapped it with steady fingers. Harry watched, his mind foggy, as Draco covered his fingers in it. Once he’d finished, he looked up at Harry.

“Ready?”

Harry nodded, and briefly wondered if it was possible to be readier than he was right now.

Draco took this moment to stick his index finger in Harry, whose body stiffened for a moment before relaxing, gradually getting used to the slow, repetitive pump of Draco’s finger.

“Ok,” Harry said, staring into those grey eyes as he did so.

Draco’s eyes flicked downward, positioning himself, before they met Harry’s gaze once more. Harry felt him put another finger in, and though it was still a tight squeeze, Harry reveled in the feeling.

“All right?”

“Yeah,” Harry gasped, “Yes.”

Draco got him used to two before putting one more in. Harry watched Draco’s face as he slipped his fingers in and out, careful and eyebrows furrowed. He bit down a smile as he forced himself to relax. Getting out of his head let him loosen up and just _feel_ how good Draco’s fingers felt in him and finally, he felt loose and open enough for what he _really_ wanted, his entire body trembling with desire.

“Ok,” Harry said again, his voice low. “I’m ready.”

He watched as Draco blinked and said, “You’re certain?”

“Fuck me, Draco,” Harry growled.

Draco’s eyes widened fractionally before growing dark with lust. He withdrew his fingers and slicked his cock thoroughly, openly taking in Harry with his eyes – Harry’s face, his body, his hard cock. Harry’s breath hitched as Draco smoothly positioned himself over Harry, plying his legs apart (not that it was difficult, really, Harry would do anything Draco wanted at this point) so Draco could have easy access.

At this point, Harry was shaking with the need to be filled – it was so close to happening and it _still hadn’t happened_.

“Malfoy, if you don’t put it in right now, I’ll kill you,” Harry threatened, though his voice was a little too faint for it to be taken seriously.

“How’d you know having my life threatened turned me on, _Potter_?” Draco asked, his tone teetering between angry and bored. God, it was so hot.

“Draco – “

But Harry couldn’t get anything else out but a gasp as Draco took that moment to enter, his cock finally pushing into Harry. He clawed at the sheets and bit his lip, stopping the moan that threatened to escape his throat. He could imagine Draco’s face, haughty and pleased and flushed and Harry looked and _yes_ it was like that, just like that, Draco Malfoy was really inside him right now, his skin hot against his own.

Draco went in further, inch by inch, driving Harry increasingly mad by the minute.

“Fuck,” Draco said softly, his voice heaven to Harry’s ears.

Harry gave an _mmph_ and grabbed at Draco’s skin, finding it to be a much better alternative to the sheets. His skin was soft and firm all at once and he reveled in sliding his hands down Draco’s back, ending at his arse and grabbing it mindlessly, wanting Draco to fuck him harder. Draco seemed to get the hint and pulled out nearly all the way before going in deep and rough. Harry gave a gasp and dug his fingernails in deep.

Draco fucked Harry harder now, merciless and beautiful and greedy. Harry felt dizzy with glee and the best kind of hurt there was – he clutched at Draco’s skin and tried to drag him down, wanting to kiss him with too much tongue and teeth. Physics didn’t work in his favor, however, and Harry had to live with Draco panting unevenly and thrusting deep in Harry – which wasn’t that bad.

“Yes,” Harry breathed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“You’re,” Draco said, his voice coming out in shallow breaths. “ _So_ beautiful.”

Harry almost believed him.

“Faster,” he said.

Draco complied, and as Harry gazed up at him, it looked like he was gone – his eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, no lines between his eyebrows…like all the sadness and pain in his face had disappeared.

“God,” Harry choked out, and went to stroke his cock.

Draco took over a minute later, his fingers long and elegant as they confidently grasped the base of it. Draco slowed down in his thrusting but moved with a force that wasn’t there before – drawn out and harsh – and Harry moaned without reservation. Draco took this as approval and his eyes were shining.

“I’m almost –“

“Me too,” cut in Draco.

Harry spilled all over himself and Draco’s hand, feeling his vision black out for a moment, feeling outside of his body and dizzy with ecstasy as he cried out and released. He watched as Draco finished just a couple seconds later; Harry felt it spread inside him and watched as the aftershocks carried Draco for a few more thrusts before he pulled himself out, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Christ,” Harry half-laughed, running a hand through his hair.

Draco fell into bed beside him, his face beautiful and exhausted.

Harry kissed it.

* * *

“Remember when you made those ‘Potter stinks’ badges?” Harry asked languidly.

They had showered and fallen into bed together once more. He was impossibly comfortable, an arm curled protectively around Draco, savoring the feel of the other man’s warm body pressed against him and the sound of his steady breaths. He felt at peace for the first time in…he didn’t even know how long.

Draco stiffened just a bit. “What about it?”

“I’m just wondering if you still stand by that decision,” Harry said, his lips quirking into a smile. He wanted to open his eyes to see Draco flush, but he was much too comfortable for that. “Like, if it was still worth all the effort to make them.”

“Shove off,” Draco grumbled with no real menace in his tone. “I was fourteen.”

“It’s still fucking weird,” Harry couldn’t contain a short laugh. He finally opened his eyes and met Draco’s glare. “You put in loads of time to make them. Did you make them yourself, or did you get people to help you?”

Draco sniffed with dignity and held onto Harry tighter. “It’s none of your concern.”

“I’m betting people,” Harry said confidently. “Maybe even house elves.”

“All right, Scarhead, what about you?” Draco returned, and Harry laughed – he well and truly felt like he was a teenager again. _Scarhead_. “Remember when you beat my face in after that match in fifth year? As if kicking my arse in Quidditch wasn’t enough, you had to _literally_ kick it?”

Draco’s words brought back flashes of memory. Draco’s – then Malfoy’s – pointy little face sneering at him, just begging to be punched. The adrenaline from the game leading him to sink his fist into Draco’s stomach. He smiled despite himself – fifth year was fucking rough, but there was still innocence and so much _energy_ left in him.

“Honestly, Draco, you’re just helping me out here. I only did that cos you insulted my _dead mother_ after insulting my friends and their own family members. In a _song you wrote_ for a _Quidditch game_.”

Draco had the decency to look ashamed. “Right.”

“How long did that take, by the way?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“Fuck off.” He burrowed his face in Harry’s chest.

“What? It’s a compliment. You could’ve become a songwriter, really,” Harry went on, a smile on his face. “You had so much talent at age fifteen.”

“Potter, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet,” Draco threatened, though there was an amused smile on his face.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

“Git.”

“Prat.”

* * *

When Harry woke up the next morning, it was to an empty bed.

He was filled with a cold dread as he sat up, his heart racing pathetically. God, could he really have been that foolish? To think Draco Malfoy would really want to spend the night with him? They certainly didn't talk about whether he would be staying til morning; they had drifted off to sleep rather early after lazy conversation, but he didn’t think Draco would just _leave_.

“Draco?” he croaked.

No response.

He got out of bed and shoved his glasses on, nerves driving him quickly out of the bedroom. He padded down the hallway and stairs, keeping an eye out for a head of white-blond hair.

“Draco?”

It was when he reached the final landing that his heart could finally slow down.

Draco was stood talking to Kreacher in the hallway leading into the kitchen, wearing one of Harry's jumpers and a pair of his pyjama pants. Kreacher seemed to notice his presence and turned towards him right away, bending into a deep bow. Draco followed his gaze and smiled at Harry, his facial features melting into something Harry was much too weak for this early in the morning.

And then Harry realized that he was shirtless, wearing only pants - too panicked to put on clothing before rushing out the room.

"Good morning, Master Harry," Kreacher said. "Young Master Malfoy has been asking for breakfast for both masters."

Draco's cheeks colored as Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I was hungry," he defended, crossing his arms. "I suppose you could have some too..."

"Seeing as it's my house," Harry finished for him. He walked towards the two of them. "Good morning."

"Kreacher will begin preparing breakfast for the young masters," Kreacher said.

"Thank you," Harry said, and Kreacher bowed and excused himself. He turned to Draco, his face growing warm. "Hey."

Draco smirked slightly, clearly amused. "Hey? Is that all you have to say?"

"Well I dunno -" Harry sputtered defensively.

Draco moved closer, cutting Harry off. He shuddered as Draco raised a hand, gracing Harry's cheek.

"After all that oversharing yesterday, all you have to say to me is hey?" he asked lowly.

Harry's cock twitched – it was morning, after all.

"Wasn't just oversharing," he mumbled, wanting to look away under Draco's heated gaze but unable to.

"Oh? What else was there?"

Harry couldn't take it anymore - he pulled Draco against him and kissed his lips with force, reveling in the pleasantly surprised _mmph_ Draco gave. Draco responded readily, his hand still on Harry's cheek as he melted into the kiss, persuading Harry's mouth open. Harry was sure Draco could feel his erection through his pants but found that he couldn't care less.

They kissed for a few more moments, wrapped up in themselves before Harry unwillingly parted and licked his lips.

"D'you remember now?" he asked, his voice husky.

"I might have had a recollection," Draco replied, his lips beautifully swollen.

Harry grinned foolishly at him before remembering himself.

"Come on," he said, taking Draco's wrist. "I've got to...put on clothes."

"Must you?" Draco replied, smirked as his eyes raked over Harry's body. He ran a finger over the scar on his chest, and Harry shivered.

"Yes," he said without much conviction. "Kreacher's literally in the next room."

"Fine," Draco said, and allowed himself to be pulled away.

* * *

They tucked into a wonderful breakfast courtesy of Kreacher and with Harry adequately dressed. The two sat across from each other and ate in near silence. Harry had trouble making conversation what with feeling incredibly awkward and still being a bit intimidated by Draco. While he was slowly unraveling the mystery of Draco Malfoy, there was still tons of work to do.

And was Draco thinking the same thing about him? Was he wondering why the great Harry Potter wasn't doing anything with his life except attending a Muggle group to whine about his woes? Or why he was confiding to a bunch of strangers who didn't know him as Harry Potter but instead as Harry, even though he had a wealth of friends who actually knew about magic?

But the truth was that there were only so many times Harry could express how lost and angry and paranoid he was before his friends got sick of it. There were only so many things they could say to comfort him before he turned to other "solutions." God, what was wrong with him?

Harry stabbed at a sausage.

"All right there, Potter?"

He jumped and looked up, momentarily forgetting that Draco was even there. His grey eyes were concerned, his mouth set in a frown.

"Er, yeah," Harry said. "Sorry."

"Doesn't look like it," Draco said, and put down his fork. He knitted his fingers together and frowning at Harry seriously. "Pretend I'm Kathy. Tell me what ails you."

Harry gave a surprised laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I am, Harry," Draco said, molding his voice into the chripy yet earnest voice that was Kathy's. "I'd like you to tell me what's wrong."

"Sod off." Harry rolled his eyes.

Draco gave a disapproving frown. "I'll have to ask you not to speak to me in that way."

"Come off it," Harry said, "Kathy's nice."

"I'm not doing it to make fun of her, you dolt," Draco said, his voice now back to his own. "I'm doing it so you'll open up or whatever."

"It's nothing, Draco. Really."

"Fine," he replied curtly, his eyes dropping to his plate as he began eating again.

Harry sighed. He didn't want Draco to get upset just because he didn't feel like talking about his feelings (for once, might he add).

"Just thinking about how I'm fucked up," Harry said after a few tense moments of silence. "So just the usual."

Draco looked up at him, and then back down at his plate.

"We're all fucked up, Potter."

"Doesn't make it any less shit."

"We've got to move on."

The way he said it - like it was so simple - sparked anger and shame in Harry.

"What do you think I've been doing, Malfoy?"

"Back to Malfoy, now, are we?" Draco drawled, a hint of interest in his voice. It reminded Harry painfully of Hogwarts.

"Don't change the subject," Harry said, too focused on his own hurt feelings to feel too bad about it. "What do you think I've been doing?"

"Ruminating on it," Draco responded, looking him square in the eye, his face bland. "Using unhealthy coping methods as a pretense for moving on when you haven't gotten to the source."

"The source?" Harry asked in disbelief. "What does that even mean?"

"It means, Potter," Draco said, his voice as calm as Harry's was volatile, "That you haven't examined the pain inside you. You haven't looked at the cause of it to actually begin healing - you just look for temporary ways to cover it up."

"What the fuck do you know about me?" Harry asked as the ache in his chest grew tenfold. He knew Draco was right but he couldn't admit it.

"I've picked up on quite a bit, I think," Draco answered quietly, reading Harry's changed body language. "I've listened to you, Harry, and I understand - to an extent, at least. I'm not saying this to hurt you, or be a prat, but because…I don’t like seeing you like this."

Harry blinked, surprised by Draco's authenticity. It seemed to be authentic, anyway, by the way his eyes were earnest and how his eyebrows were pinched together in a sad sort of way. His voice was low and calming, running over Harry's rough edges and smoothing them down.

"You just," Harry said slowly, his throat dry, "Make it sound so easy."

"It's not," Draco said simply. "But you've got to start somewhere."

Draco reached across the table for Harry's hand, and Harry let him take it. Draco curled his fingers around it, and Harry felt as if Draco's serenity was spreading through Harry's body. He took a deep breath and gazed evenly into Draco’s eyes.

Then tentatively, Harry slid Draco's sleeve up, exposing the marked forearm. He glanced up, and Draco nodded tensely.

Slowly, carefully, Harry traced the patterns with his free hand, Draco's soft skin underneath his fingers.  Looking closer now, he could see raised edges along the border of the Dark Mark, bleeding into the tattoo, sharp and deliberate, but none on the Mark itself. Harry's heart ached as he stared at them, trying to imagine Draco doing it to himself. And before he knew what he was doing, he raised Draco's arm and kissed the ink, both good and bad.

He raised his eyes, nervous to see how Draco would react, and was shocked to see Draco’s eyes open, emotional, and no longer guarded - for the first time.

Harry felt like crying and laughing at the same time and was overwhelmed with the desire to hold Draco and never let go. Draco stared blankly at him, his face white.

"Draco."

He moved to the other side of the table in record time and sat down in the seat next to Draco. He took Draco’s hand and squeezed it tight, unable to articulate what he wanted to say. He watched as Draco’s mouth worked soundlessly until finally his eyebrows pinched together and he whispered - _why_.

"You're amazing," Harry said softly. "You are."

Draco's lip trembled.

"No I'm not," he responded, his voice faint. "I'm a - a wreck, a disgrace, I’m pathetic and disgusting -"

"Draco," said Harry, his heart falling, but Draco kept going.

"I can pretend that I’m put together and ‘fixed’ all I want but in truth, I’m just weak and broken and it’s so _pathetic_.”

Harry took Draco's face in his hands, making him look him in the eyes, feeling Draco’s sticky tears trickle through his own fingers. Draco looked like he'd seen a ghost and Harry wanted to undo it.

"You’re not weak, Draco," Harry said firmly. Draco tried to shake his head, his eyes red. "You're not broken. You're brave and you've been through too much and you hold yourself too accountable. No one can be strong all the time. You're _not_ pathetic or weak or disgusting."

Draco gave a humorless laugh; Harry’s words caught in his throat.

"I'm a fucking Death Eater, Harry.”

"You _were_ a Death Eater," Harry reminded him. "And it wasn't your choice."

"Do you think anyone cares? I've been ostracized from the Wizarding world, and for good reason. No one trusts me - no one should. When you first walked into group, I thought you'd go somewhere, tell someone about me, make me the laughing stock again. Honestly, I don't even know why you've even talked to me, let alone - let alone..."

Harry was shocked and a bit hurt; his hands fell limply into his lap. It must have shown on his face because Draco looked away, his jaw working tensely.

"Really, Draco, you thought I'd go to the press? Who do you think I am? Someone who hasn't been attacked themselves by the media for over a bloody decade?"

He took a breath, trying to calm himself down. It didn't work.

"I can't believe you think I would've done that."

"I was scared, all right?" Draco burst out, snapping his head up to glare at Harry. "I've got to look out for myself."

"And you really thought I'd be out to get you. After everything."

Draco's cheeks flushed. "It'd been four years since we'd last seen each other. I didn't know what to expect."

"So you immediately jumped to the conclusion that I'd tell the whole world about you?” he asked, his voice rising. “How about the simple fact that I just wanted to be normal?"

Draco flinched.

"You are normal, Harry," Draco said quietly.

"Right," he bit out.

"You're just - ill."

"Thanks."

"First step is acceptance," grumbled Draco. "I'm mentally ill, you're mentally ill...and there's no reason to be ashamed of it."

"Right," Harry said again. He wiped his palms on his jeans and took a deep breath. "Sorry for yelling at you."

Draco made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "It's all right. I find I'm used to it at this point."

Harry gave him two fingers.

"But I meant it, what I said earlier," Harry continued. "That you're not a bad person."

"That's something you'll never convince me of.”

Harry frowned.

"Don't make that face," said Draco. "The mistakes I made are mine and mine alone. I'm the one who made a mess of my life."

"'S not a mess."

"And yours isn't either?" Draco challenged.

When Harry didn't say anything, Draco gave a bitter smile.

* * *

They moved to the sitting room after breakfast, Kreacher dutifully cleaning up after them. Harry stuffed his hands nervously in his pockets and watched Draco, working his bottom lip and wondering what to do. Draco himself was walking slowly around the room, studying everything with great intensity.

“You’ve changed it,” Draco said suddenly, making Harry jump.

Draco turned to face him; Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Though I don’t remember much, I’m _certain_ the Blacks didn’t keep a VCR in their sitting room,” he said, nodding his head towards the dusty VCR that indeed sat underneath an outdated television.

“You know what a VCR is?” Harry asked, genuinely surprised.

“You’ve forgotten I’ve lived in the Muggle world for the past five years.”

“Right,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“And this collection,” Draco said, kneeling to examine the disorderly stacks of tapes shoved into the cabinet, “Is pitiful.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry said defensively, squatting down next to Draco. Even now, being this close to Draco made his breath catch.

“I admit you do have some decent titles, but you either come off as a pretentious shit,” Draco ran a finger down the side of _Lost Highway_ , “Or a child.” He looked pointedly at the four Star Wars tapes.

Harry shot him a glare. “I can’t believe you’d insult Star Wars like that. They’re not just for children.”

“Fine, they’re also for losers.”

Harry gawked; Draco looked indifferent.

“I can’t believe – have you ever even seen them?”

“Why would I?”

“That’s it,” Harry said firmly. He took out his battered copy of _A New Hope_ and slid it out of its casing. “We’re watching it. Sit your arse down on the couch.”

“No,” Draco said, flabbergasted. “You can’t just order me around, _demanding_ that I watch this ridiculous film.”

“Watch me. Now sit.”

Draco shot him a dirty look but complied, slinking to the couch as Harry pushed the tape into the VCR determinedly. Once he pressed the ‘rewind’ button, Harry grabbed the remote before joining Draco on the couch, nearly jumping onto the cushion next to him. Draco glared at him again, and Harry grinned, unable to help himself.

“Admit it,” Harry beamed. “You want to watch it. You _want_ to see what all the fuss is about.”

“I’m just being a good guest, that’s all,” Draco sniffed, turning his eyes to the television, which was flickering through the film in reverse. “It’d be impolite to turn down your…suggestion.”

“Yeah, like you’d care about being impolite,” grumbled Harry, and before Draco could respond, he loudly shushed him. “It’s starting!”

The iconic theme song began playing as the yellow words flew onto the screen. Harry leaned forward eagerly, ignoring Draco’s whine about it being too loud.

“It’s part of the charm,” Harry assured him. “You’ll love it.”

“Not bloody likely.”

* * *

 

“So?”

“Fuck off, Potter.”

“You love it,” Harry said, undeterred by Draco’s bored drawl. “Admit it.”

“Admit what?”

Draco pushed into Harry some more, somehow aggressive and gentle at the same time. They were nestled on Harry’s couch, surrounded by blankets and pillows (courtesy of Molly), Harry happily molding himself into whatever position Draco wanted to be in. It was absurd but this seemed _right_. Good. Harry felt at peace with Draco Malfoy curled up against him, bony limbs and pointy chin and all.

He smiled.

“That you love Star Wars.”

“And where did you come up with that idea?”

“Somewhere between _The Empire Strikes Back_ and _Return of the Jedi_.”

Harry glanced down at Draco, whose flushed face was squished against his chest.

“It’s your fault,” Draco said. Harry smiled broader. Draco tried again, pointedly not looking at Harry, “I just didn’t want to say no. That’d be rude, considering you’re the host and all.”

“Right.”

“Just – shut up and put the next one in.”

“Should we order food first?”

There was a pause.

“I suppose."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Samuel deserves better  
> Me: Doesn't do anything about it
> 
> An update! Sorry I took so long. Partly written to Fergie's iconic "The Dutchess." Enjoy

Draco spent that night at Grimmauld Place too, and when Harry woke up on Friday morning, it was to him spooning Draco.

After marathoning all the Star Wars films Harry had (Harry told Draco that the next would be coming out soon enough, don’t worry), they had had sex and fallen asleep soon after.

Harry reveled in the fact that this was truly happening, that his life had really taken this big of a turn. It simultaneously felt like his first meeting at group had been a day ago and a lifetime ago; he never could have imagined that _this_ would have come out of it. He felt like a different person - like he was living a new life, as ridiculous as it sounded.

Draco shifted against him and let out a sleepy moan, drawing Harry’s attention to him being half-hard. He bit down a smile as he studied Draco’s face, his back, and his marked arm. God, he was beautiful. It still astounded Harry that someone so gorgeous could be interested in _him_.

Draco shifted again – _was he a light sleeper?_ – and soon his eyes were blinking open. He gave a sleepy _mmmphh_ and turned so he was facing Harry, his face screwed up, apparently annoyed at being woken up. He frowned (pouted?) at Harry.

“What time is it?” Draco mumbled.

“I dunno,” Harry said. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me.”

He closed his eyes again.

“No,” Harry whined, squeezing himself tightly against Draco. “Wake up.”

Draco made a disgruntled noise but cracked an eye open. Harry couldn’t help but beam at him.

“Ugh,” groaned Draco, shutting his eyes again. “Get that away.”

“What, my face?” Harry asked, undeterred, and smiled brighter.

“You in general.”

“You’re the one in my bed, mind you.”

Draco fixed Harry was a tired glare. “Should I leave?”

“No,” Harry said immediately, and Draco sighed.

“That’s what I thought.”

Though he was awake (well, not going back to sleep right this second), Draco was still burrowed underneath the covers, his legs tangled with Harry’s. His heart fluttered at the sight. God, he hadn’t had anyone else in this bed since Ginny, and that had been years ago. He knew he didn’t want Draco to leave, and speaking of that, why hadn’t he?

“I hope I’m not – I mean, er,” Harry tried to say. He reconsidered his words. “It’s all right that you’ve been here since Wednesday night, right?”

Draco gave him a quizzical look. “Do you think I’d be here if it wasn’t?”

“Well, no,” said Harry, “But I was just making sure. I don’t want you missing anything, or…”

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Draco said gently, and Harry’s face warmed. “I’m not working right now, and I don’t have any prior engagements.”

Harry’s curiosity was piqued (when was it not when concerning Draco Malfoy?), and he asked, “Do you usually work?”

“Yes, that’s usually how one sustains themselves in this day and age. Not all of us can just lay about and depend on our inheritance.” Draco answered, his gentle tone gone as quick as it came.

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black or whatever?”

“It might’ve been, in the past,” Draco said, “But with our family outed as the slimy, Dark house that we are, I’ve had to find other means. Not to say we’re bankrupt, but I certainly can’t depend on lying on my arse anymore.”

Harry took this opportunity to grasp said arse. Draco rolled his eyes but smiled.

“So what kind of work do you do then?”

“Nothing I can make a career out of – just cafes, pubs, once a supermarket,” Draco grimaced. “Imagine the Muggles’ shock when I waltzed in asking for a job when I had no identification and no CV. What about you, Potter? Have you had the pleasure of working minimum wage?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Draco sighed. “I’ll have to go back work soon, just in time for the holiday season.”

“That sucks.”

“Well-said,” Draco said, and snuggled up against Harry. “I want to go back to sleep now. Will you let me?”

“Fine,” Harry sighed exaggeratedly but allowed Draco to turn back around so Harry could resume spooning him.

“Thanks, Harry,” Draco mumbled sleepily, and Harry thought his heart might burst.

* * *

 

He woke up again sometime later, Harry blinking into consciousness after being roused by the cracks of light shining through the curtains. He patted his bedside for his wristwatch, and was surprised to see that it read 12.30. Of course, he’d neglected to check the time when he’d first wakened, but 12.30 was still rather impressive for him.

“I was starting to think you’d never wake up,” came Draco’s voice, making Harry jump.

He turned to look over at Draco, who was laying on his side, his head propped up. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Harry responded, dropping his watch back on the bedside table and rolling to lie face-to-face with Draco.

“No, I’m glad you did,” Draco said conversationally, even though his nose was just a centimeter away from Harry’s. Harry shivered from their closeness and didn't know where to look. “I don’t know how I’d explain waking up to Harry Potter’s corpse.”

“Well, then, you’re welcome for still being alive.”

He kissed Draco then, gently, holding his breath (for some reason). They kissed for a while, and it was slow, calm, and soft. It made Harry feel lightheaded as usual, and every sensation, every sound, every flick of Draco’s tongue just made Harry drift farther away from earth. Draco was intoxicating – there really wasn’t any other word for it.

Draco moved onto his neck, kissing and sucking Harry’s skin, making him shudder. His eyes fell closed as he took in the feeling, Draco’s sure hand on Harry’s bicep, the hot yet endearing breaths he took through his nostrils, the slight scrape of his teeth as he sucked devotedly.

“Mmph.”

Harry led Draco back to his lips and his own hand to Draco’s hard cock, stroking through the cloth (which was in fact, Harry’s own pair of briefs). Draco tensed and kissed harder, the hand on Harry’s bicep gripping tighter. Harry dipped his hand into Draco’s pants and grasped it, making Draco gasp softly. God, he was so hot.

He resumed stroking, relishing how he could drive Draco into making that beautiful face – eyes barely closed, panting lightly – with his pale chest rising and falling with thinly veiled intensity.

“God, let me blow you,” Harry said after another minute of watching Draco, his own cock growing harder with every passing second.

“Y-yes,” Draco breathed, not even looking at him.

Harry moved backwards into position and took Draco’s pants off in a single motion, his eyes glued on the beautiful cock that greeted him.

“Harry.”

Christ, it was almost a _plead_ and he wasted no time in taking Draco into his mouth.

Draco shuddered and Harry twirled his tongue around Draco’s cock, running it up and down the length of it. He slid his hands up and down Draco’s thighs, pausing to grip his arse, causing Draco to make a little noise again. He looked up into Draco’s dark eyes, who exhaled shakily and grabbed Harry’s hair.

“So hot,” Draco gasped, “ _Harry_.”

The silky way his name slid out of Draco’s mouth went straight to Harry’s cock, and he sucked harder, deeper, wanting to give Draco every bit of pleasure possible. This just made Draco demanding; the hand in Harry’s hair now took hold of the back of his head and forced Harry down on Draco’s cock. Harry nearly gagged on the force and surprise of it but quickly recovered, up for the challenge. He took Draco whole and sucked hard, making Draco writhe and moan deliciously.

Draco continued to guide him, now thrusting his hips forward in time with the rest of their movements.

“You like that, Potter?” came Draco’s breathy voice, and it just made Harry suck more desperately. “You like it when I fuck your face?”

Harry moaned around Draco’s cock, partly because he did in fact, like it, but mostly because he lived for Draco’s reactions to the sounds Harry made during sex.

Draco never failed to disappoint.

“ _Yes_ ,” he hissed, his hand tight on Harry. “I’m gonna come, Harry, fuck.”

He never would’ve dreamed Draco to be so wonderfully vocal during sex – it made Harry’s heart flutter with a strange affection.

They continued for only a few minutes longer before Draco came in Harry’s mouth, hot and salty and quick. He writhed underneath Harry, who took it all gladly.

When he was finished, Harry crawled up to lie next to Draco, who was panting, his hair awry. Harry made to cuddle but Draco stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“You’re next,” he smirked devilishly, pushing him down on the bed.

Harry’s cock throbbed with want as he watched Draco slink down to take it with a wet mouth.

* * *

 

Kreacher treated them to a large lunch around 2 pm, his little eyes observing them with something between fascination and revulsion. Harry watched him watch them from the corner of his eye for a minute before pointedly saying, “Thank you, Kreacher.”

The old elf took the hint and bowed deeply before retreating to the dining room.

Harry looked at Draco. “What’s his deal?”

Draco’s grey eyes flickered to where Kreacher had stood before they went back to his soup. He swallowed another spoonful before answering.

“He’s an old House Elf who’s been serving one of the oldest Pureblood families out there, Harry. Do you expect him to _not_ be interested?”

Harry squirmed. “He knows we’ve been fucking?”

“I’m surprised at you. Didn’t Granger start that pro-elf group back at school? SICK, or SPIT, or something?”

“SPEW,” answered Harry irritably. “And what about it?”

“You’re treating Kreacher like he’s some animal,” Draco explained. “He’s smarter than some wizards out there. Of course he knows what fucking is, and that we’ve been doing it.”

Harry’s face warmed. “Great. But that doesn’t answer my question. Why was he looking at us like that?”

“We’re two men, Harry,” Draco drawled. “You, the heir of the Black house, and me, a Pureblood relative of the Blacks. He’s likely glad that you’re shacking up with someone halfway respectable – in his eyes, at least – though upset that I’m not a woman and can’t continue the familial line in a traditional way.”

Did they have surrogates in the wizarding world? Harry pushed the question out of his mind.

“So…he’s more upset that we can’t have children instead of us both being blokes?”

“I suppose,” Draco said, thinking on it for a moment, chewing his food politely. “Though it’s not saying much, since I’m sure he’s witnessed his fair share of er, shall we say – unconventional love. This _is_ the Black house, after all.”

Harry shoveled his face with food. “Don’t wanna hear about that.”

“None of us do, Harry.”

They finished their meal and moved back up to Harry’s bedroom to lie about some more. This version of not doing anything was highly preferable to how he did it in the past – he _really_ didn’t miss doing it alone. It was boring, and simply put, pathetic.

But now Harry had Draco. Beautiful, clever, funny Draco, who he had more in common with than he’d ever expected, who he always felt comfortable around, who he could be _himself_ around. No need to hide the fact that he was, in fact, _very_ mentally ill – Draco took it all in stride and comforted Harry without being patronizing, something that merited an award in Harry’s humble opinion.

All in all, Draco was excellent company and Harry never wanted it to end.

* * *

 

Harry's otherwise ordinary dream was interrupted by Draco's insistent hiss of his name, a frantic, female voice, and the mutterings of a little house elf.

He opened his eyes blearily and managed a croaky _what_ as he shoved his glasses on. And then he saw what was causing all the commotion.

A positively pink Draco was frozen underneath the covers as a bewildered Hermione Granger stood in the doorway with her hands covering her mouth. Kreacher stood behind her – the obvious source of the muttering.

"Oh my - Harry, I'm so sorry, Kreacher just said that you were sleeping, he didn't say that anyone else was here!" Hermione blurted all at once.

"Apologies, Master Harry," Kreacher bowed, shooting a glare at Hermione. "I informed the Mu - Mistress Granger that you were preoccupied -"

"Merlin," muttered Draco as he sunk further into the protection of the covers.

“- it’s not Kreacher’s fault she misunderstood,” Kreacher finished firmly.

"Um it's fine, could you leave us for a second?" Harry responded, feeling faint.

Kreacher bowed and disappeared with a crack. Harry then turned to Hermione, who was still staring at him with wide eyes.

"Hermione – er, what're you doing here?" he asked nervously, pulling the blankets up to cover his bare chest, though this was the same Hermione who'd saved his life and had to see him shirtless to do so.

"It's Saturday morning, Harry," she explained, guilt on her face. As it sunk in, she bit her lip and continued. "And you didn’t come for drinks yesterday either, so when you didn't come this morning, I got worried and came over..."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm all right, I'm just..."

He cast an apologetic look at Draco, who just grew pinker. Hermione shifted.

"Yes, well, I'm glad you're all right. Ron and I don't mind if you don't come today, if you have other things to do -" Hermione said, her eyes flickering towards Draco, who bristled.

"No, no, I want to go. Could Draco come too?”

"What?" said Hermione and Draco simultaneously, both caught off guard. They looked at each other uneasily.

Draco broke eye contact with Hermione to glare daggers at Harry and finally scramble into a sitting position, his pale, scarred chest and marked arm in full view.

"What in Merlin’s name are you thinking?" Draco hissed.

"I dunno, I mean – wouldn’t it be fun?"

"I think, Potter, that you and I have very different ideas of fun."

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to say something when Hermione cleared her throat.

"Um, I'll leave you to it,” she said, her voice a higher pitch than it usually was. She inched closer to the door, a fake smile plastered on her face. “If you decide to come, great, if not, also great. Right. Bye, Harry!”

“Er, bye!” he called, but she had already gone in a flash of bushy hair.

“Harry, what the hell were you thinking, asking if I could go to – what is it, anyway?”

“Brunch,” he answered. “Every Saturday morning, we meet up and have brunch.”

Draco goggled at him. “We’ll talk about the fact that you have a weekly _brunch_ appointment later on, but Harry, how did you even forget you had it when you made all that fuss about me being free to be here yesterday?”

Harry frowned, unsure of the answer himself. How _did_ he forget it? He hadn’t missed it in a while – his absences were worst when he was still having one-night stands and had been too hungover to leave the house.

“I dunno,” he said.

“Merlin, you’re strange,” Draco sighed. “I’ve got another question – what possessed you to invite me to your little group’s _brunch_?”

“I mean, I figure we’ll all have to sit down and talk about it at some point or another, so we might as well get it over with, right?

Draco flushed, hesitated, then looked away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what is it?” Harry pressed.

Draco hesitated before answering softly. “You want me to spend time with your friends in that capacity?”

Harry blinked, genuinely surprised at both himself and Draco. He didn’t realize it before, but yes, he really did want to spend time with Draco, Ron, and Hermione as a group.

"Er, yeah," he said. "I guess I have."

Draco pondered this for another moment before asking, "So are we...properly dating, then?"

"We did sort of have a three-day sleepover where we had sex and did other intimate things, so, I think so?"

"Good grief," Draco said, and actually looked a bit faint. "I'm...dating...Harry Potter."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Draco answered. A smile played at his lips. "Quite a good thing, I think."

Harry grinned and went in for a kiss. Draco kissed back gently, his palm smooth on Harry's cheek.

“Well,” said Draco, “If we’re going to have brunch with Granger and Weasley, I’ve got to make a good impression, don’t I?”

“Wanna kiss more first,” Harry mumbled, and pulled Draco close again, who didn’t fight him.

* * *

 

“Even with a cleaning charm these clothes are filthy.”

“You could borrow some of mine?”

Draco blanched. “And suffer the inquisitive eyes of Granger and Weasley? No thank you.”

“Maybe they won’t notice.”

* * *

 

They noticed.

When Harry and Draco came in through the Floo, Ron’s eyes nearly popped out his head. Hermione dropped her spoon. Her brown eyes jumped from Harry, to Draco, to Draco’s (Harry’s) jumper and jeans, and back to Harry.

“Harry! And Malfoy,” Hermione said, composing herself. She stood up from the table and walked over to greet them. “So glad you could make it. Ron and I have almost finished eating, I’m sorry, but I’ve placed warming charms on the rest of the food.”

She was talking quickly as she usually did when she was nervous.

“Morning, Hermione. Thank you,” Harry said, stepping to embrace her in a hug. She hugged back, though tensely. “Morning, Ron.”

“Hey, Harry,” said Ron, where he was still sitting at the table. “Malfoy, you came too, huh?”

“Um, yes, I have,” answered Draco unnecessarily. He glanced at Harry, who cocked his head, and then looked back at Hermione and Ron. He took a shuddering breath and added, his words fast but clear, “Good morning. Thank you for having me; I’m well aware that I’m not your first choice of a houseguest – I’m more likely your last.”

Ron and Hermione both shifted uncomfortably. Draco plowed on.

“I also wanted to say that while I may just be repeating myself from a few years ago, I apologize for everything I ever did to you two. My behavior was inexcusable – both the petty, childish things I’ve done and the far graver actions I committed in my later years – though they were both fueled by my own hate and prejudice. I’m filled with regret and shame and truthfully, don’t expect you to forgive me. Harry has…been exceptionally gracious and though I don’t deserve it, has shown me real kindness.”

There was a pink glow high on Draco’s cheekbones, and Harry felt his own face burn with embarrassment and pleasure.

“But, um,” Draco went on, while Hermione and Ron looked at him strangely, “Thank you again, and I’ll…leave if you want me too. I wouldn’t blame you.” He finished awkwardly.

“Lemme get this straight,” Ron finally said after the four of them had suffered through stiff silence for quite some time. His ears were red. “You…and Harry…are…friends?”

He remained on the ‘f’ of ‘friends’ for far too long, making it sound more like ‘fffffffff-riends.’

“I, er, we were. But now we’re…er, boyfriends, I guess,” Harry stepped in, cringing a bit at the word. He turned to Draco, ignoring Ron’s bewildered expression. “I don’t really like – er, how would you feel about partners instead?”

“God, Harry, what are we, Aurors? No. Boyfriends is just fine,” Draco said, his face reddening even more.

“Fine.”

“First, um, Malfoy, I appreciate your apology,” Hermione put in, shooting an apprehensive look at Harry. _What?_ he shrugged. She made a _I’ll tell you later_ face before continuing to Draco. “And yes, I did get your letter before – I’m sorry I never responded, I reckon I was still a bit overwhelmed. I’m…glad, I suppose, to know that you feel badly about it all.”

There was a brief, heavy silence. Harry thought Draco might have gulped.

“Secondly, Harry,” Hermione said clearly, her voice high, “Since when have you and Malfoy been, um, boyfriends?”

“Officially, today, I reckon,” Harry answered, frowning over at Draco. He nodded in agreement. “But we’ve been er, involved for a little longer.”

“Officially today is fine,” Draco said, pink in the face again.

Hermione nodded, her eyes wary and deep in thought. She snapped back into it and invited them to sit down. They complied; Harry and Draco on one side of the table and Ron and Hermione on the other. The former pair helped themselves to some of the steaming food, and Harry was suddenly very hungry. The latter watched them eat, Ron’s visual investigation much more obvious than Hermione’s.

“How did you two meet, anyway? I mean, y’know, in recent terms?” Ron asked, his ears still quite red. “Cos you never mentioned him.”

“I wanted to, Ron,” Harry said guiltily. “It was just complicated.”

“Complicated how?” asked Hermione.

“Can I tell them?” Harry asked Draco, who nodded curtly. He then said to his two best friends, “At group.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped into a near-perfect ‘O,’ and Ron continued his visual examination of Draco.

“I saw him there the first time I went,” Harry explained when they didn’t say anything, “And I wanted to tell you, but there’s group confidentiality…I’m sorry.”

“What, so you’ve been shagging him since September?” Ron asked, continuing to talk about Draco as if he wasn’t there.

“No!” Harry exclaimed. He sunk a little bit in his seat and stared down at his lap, mortified. “Since last month. October. It’s really only been a week.”

“A week and a half at this point,” Draco corrected.

“I s’pose.”

“Does anyone else know?”

Harry worried his bottom lip, feeling guilty.

“Ginny and Luna,” he replied, and everyone looked surprised and a bit betrayed. “They found out on their own, I promise! Luna guessed – you know how she is, and Ginny put two and two together.”

He momentarily envied the relatively pleasant reaction he got from Ginny and Luna. Ron and Hermione take everything way too seriously, Harry thought bitterly, which made sense, but it got so _tiring_.

“They were happy for me,” Harry added quietly, and Hermione and Ron’s faces fell. Draco frowned at Harry and put his hand on Harry’s thigh, his action concealed by the table.

“We’re happy for you too, Harry,” Hermione said, and when Harry raised his eyebrow at her, she grimaced. “I mean, well, I’m sorry we didn’t react so well. I was just so surprised – I mean there was _no_ hint of this whatsoever – so when I just walked in on the two of you in bed together I didn’t know what to think!”

“I thought Hermione was having a laugh when she told me,” Ron added, taking Hermione’s hand. He looked at Harry, a serious expression on his face. “Mate…if you’re happy, then I support you. And come to think of it…you do look a lot better. Even compared to two months ago.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said softly.

“It’s true,” Hermione agreed. “It’s just – a shock, but if you two are serious, then I’ve got to do better. We both do,” she said to Ron, who nodded.

“So do I,” Harry admitted. “I should have told you earlier that something was up…you’re my closest friends but I don’t show it enough.”

“Oh, Harry, you do,” Hermione smiled slightly. “I know you love us, and we love you too.”

Before Harry could respond, Draco said, “Merlin, is this how you all really talk? I’m surprised you all weren’t sorted into Hufflepuff.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“House stereotypes are tired and old, Draco,” he said firmly, and then added, “We don’t _always_ talk like this.”

“Right,” Draco said, clearly not buying it. He then turned to Hermione and Ron, who were looking at him reproachfully. “And I should have known you’d become a ‘we’ couple.”

Ron flushed, and Hermione was halfway between a gasp and a laugh.

“We’re not a ‘we’ couple!” she insisted.

Draco raised an eyebrow, and to Harry’s relief, Hermione laughed. Ron, still flustered, put an arm around Hermione. Draco smirked, clearly pleased with himself.

Harry slid his fingers through Draco’s under the table and beamed at the three most important people in his life.

* * *

 

Draco left about half an hour later, thanking Ron and Hermione for the meal and their hospitality, allowing Harry, Hermione, and Ron to talk candidly. Harry was a bit sad to see Draco go, but knew it was for the best – spending three straight days together was a bit extreme, and could there really be too much of a good thing?

They parted with a soft, chaste kiss while Ron and Hermione had gone to the kitchen, and Draco told him that he’d see him Wednesday. Harry was already counting down the days.

Hermione served them all cups of tea and sat down; Harry prepared himself, holding his breath.

“He seems really different,” Hermione began.

“He is.”

“Very grown up.”

“Still pointy, though,” said Ron.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, though he rather liked the pointiness.

“And you met, for lack of a better word, at a Muggle mental health support group.”

Harry nodded. “I was surprised too.”

“Do you know how long he’s been going?”

“Around a year.”

Ron whistled lowly.

“It’s weird, when I see him, I’m just reminded of how he was when he was during Hogwarts, the slimy git, but then he opens his mouth and it’s different,” Ron said. “Like he’s still rude, but not in certain-people-should-die way. ‘S weird.”

“He probably thinks the same thing about you,” Harry said with a shrug. “It _has_ been six years since we were even at school with him.”

“Harry, it’s just…he’s done _so much_. He was a Death Eater, for Christ’s sake,” Hermione said lowly, her eyebrows drawn together.

Harry’s throat tightened.

“He was,” Harry nodded. He exhaled shakily. “Not of his own choice, though. He was never happy as one, Hermione, I saw it.”

Hermione frowned at the mention of his visions, her eyes turning hard. She looked down at her mug, her hands wrapped tightly around it.

“That may be true,” she said slowly, “But he was still so awful to us – all of us – even before he became a Death Eater.”

“I know, Hermione,” he said quietly.

Ron wrapped an arm protectively around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“There’s no excuse for it, I know that. He was shitty and hateful and really fucking prejudiced,” Harry said, his voice still low. Hermione didn’t look up. “I won’t ever forget. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. But he’s changed, he’s really changed. He’s practically been living as a Muggle these past four years. Muggle jobs, Muggle flat, hell, Muggle group. He knows he’s done wrong – he feels really badly about it.”

Hermione finally met his eyes – her face hard.

“Well, isn’t that just wonderful?” she snapped in a very un-Hermione like way. Harry flinched; even Ron looked taken-aback. “He feels really bad, so we should just forget about everything he’s done.”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Harry said quickly, his heart sinking and suddenly feeling very sick. “I’m sorry, Hermione, should I go? I’ll go.”

“No.” Hermione closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath. “You don’t need to go. I just need to…understand. I’m worried for you, Harry.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” he said. “More than fine. This is the best I’ve felt in _years_. I swear to God, I feel the most alive when I’m with him and I know it doesn’t make sense but it’s _true_. He makes me happy.”

He trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper. His heart ached as the truth sunk in, loud and obvious and as clear as day, and he looked away, afraid to look his friends in the eyes.

“He makes me not want to die.”

“Harry,” Ron said, his voice strained.

Hermione seemed at a loss for words.

“No, I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Harry said, his throat tight. “I’ve just been so fucked up for _so_ long, I’ve actually forgotten what it feels like to be happy. But Draco’s made me remember. I actually…want to live. I can picture myself alive in a few years. For once.”

Harry could see the pain in Hermione’s and Ron’s eyes, but he pushed forward, needing to get it all out. If he didn’t do it now, he feared he never would.

“Don’t get me wrong, group helped too. A lot. I’ve made some good friends there, I think, and everyone’s been so nice. But Draco…he understands in a way no one else does. I mean, you obviously do too,” he added quickly, not wanting them to get the wrong idea, “But I just don’t want to keep bothering you-“

“You _never_ bother us, Harry,” Hermione whispered.

Ron nodded vigorously. “We’re always here for you, mate. You know that.”

“I do,” Harry said, and chewed his lip. “It’s just – I’m sure you get tired of me being pathetic and all that – I do, at least. And you two are doing so well, I don’t want to…bring you down, or anything.”

“Recovery is not a linear process,” Hermione recited immediately, her expression serious. “Even if it seems like we’re doing ‘well,’ we have our off-days, Harry. I’m sure you know that. I mean, by the way I snapped at you earlier…you know that. You can vent to us anytime. You don’t have to worry about us.”

“But I _do_ worry about you,” Harry said, shaking his head. “How could I not? You’re my best friends and I just want you to be happy.”

“Mate, that’s exactly what we want for you,” Ron said.

“Well, now we’re just going around in circles.”

“Come on. Group hug,” Hermione said, and when the boys didn’t move, she said again sternly, “Group hug.”

They obeyed and hugged for a few moments. Harry took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, feeling his closest friends wrapping their arms around him. He knew he was loved. He did. It was just hard to wrap his head around. He just felt like such a _burden_.

“Well done, everyone,” Hermione said once they’d all parted. “It was getting a bit too heavy for my liking.”

“That’s the weird thing about war, isn’t it?” Ron joked, and Hermione glared at him (albeit lovingly).

Harry smiled at them and wondered when Ron was going to propose. They were, quite honestly, meant for each other.

“I reckon I’m going to head back now,” Harry said. “I need to…process.”

Hermione nodded. “Of course, Harry. And remember, you’re welcome anytime.”

“I know, Hermione,” Harry smiled at the both of them. “Well, bye.”

“Bye, Harry.”

* * *

 

Harry wrote Ginny an owl on Monday evening, asking if he could come over whenever convenient. She wrote back with a note saying _‘yes you idiot you don’t need to ask_.’ He grinned to himself before letting her know he’d be over the next day around noon.

He stuck to his word and arrived to her flat through Floo five to noon. Harry stepped out of the fireplace and called out, “Ginny?”

“Yes, Harry!” Her voice came from her bedroom. “Just be a minute!”

He went over to the kitchen and poured himself a cuppa before sitting down in his usual chair. A minute later Ginny came in, hurriedly pulling her fiery hair into a large bun. She was wearing a white button-up and the smallest pair of shorts Harry thought he’d ever seen.

“Morning, Harry,” she said, and poured herself some tea as well.

“It’s hardly morning, though, is it?”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. She then called towards the bedroom, “Luna, tea?”

There was silence, and then Luna padded into the kitchen in a lilac nightgown (and no bra, Harry saw). He looked away, his face growing hot.

“No thank you,” she said, and got herself a glass from the cupboard. “Do we have juice?”

_We?_

“Pineapple and mango,” Ginny replied.

Luna retrieved the mango juice and poured herself an ample amount. She took a sip and sighed happily.

“Hullo, Harry.”

“Hey Luna.”

“Hope you don’t mind Luna’s here,” Ginny said, sitting down and wrapping her hands around her mug.

“Of course not,” Harry said.

“So, what’s wrong?” Ginny asked.

“Ron and Hermione found out.”

Ginny immediately looked more awake. Luna sat down next to her, her eyes wide.

“Merlin. How’d that go?”

“A bit – er, not the best,” he said, and when Ginny gave him a look, he continued, “Hermione found us in bed.”

Ginny let out a loud laugh. “How scandalous!”

“It was awful,” he told her.

“There’s nothing wrong with sex, Harry,” Luna said. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

Harry sputtered as Ginny laughed even more.

“No! We weren’t – I mean – we were just sleeping!”

“That’s also a very intimate act, isn’t it?” Luna mused. “But you shouldn’t be ashamed of that, either.”

“I’m not,” Harry insisted. “I just would’ve liked a more conventional way to break the news, y’know.”

“Your life isn’t exactly conventional, Harry.”

He glared at Ginny, who smiled and asked, “What happened?”

“Hermione looked like she wanted to disappear, Draco looked like he wanted to disappear, and I _definitely_ wanted to disappear, and then we went over to Ron’s and Hermione’s for brunch.”

“You’re telling me – hold on, you’ve got to back up. I thought you were just performing sinful acts in loos. When did that become _brunch_ with Ron and Hermione?”

“He spent the night,” Harry said, his face flushing as he thought back to those three blissful days. “Several nights. We talked…and…yeah.”

“That sounds lovely, Harry,” said Luna.

“So you’re, what, going out?”

“I think so,” said Harry. He then corrected himself. “I mean, we are.”

“Congratulations, Harry. I always thought you two would make an agreeable couple.”

“Thank you, Luna.”

“Right, I’m still a bit hung up on how our favorite young bachelor is now shacking up with our favorite reformed Death Eater,” said Ginny.

“Who’s ‘our’?”

“The entirety of the female population of the wizarding world,” said Ginny as if it was obvious.

“Is Draco really popular with the entirety of whatever?”

“Compared to every other ex-Death Eater,” Ginny said. She took a long sip of her tea. “He’s gone all mysterious. He’s barely seen in our world, he’s elusive, and he’s finally grown into that pointy face of his.”

“I didn’t know you were so invested in all this.”

“I’m not, you tosser.”

“Right. And he’s not that pointy.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. Harry frowned.

“Maybe a little bit.”

“It suits him,” Luna said, coming to his defense.

“I hope you don’t go running off with him, Luna,” said Ginny, “If you like pointy so much.”

“I like you the best, Ginny, you know that,” Luna said serenely, smiling at her.

Ginny flushed and mumbled something to her girlfriend under her breath; Harry wondered. He tried to remember if he’d ever made her that flustered (other than when she was eleven years old). Probably not.

“Anyway,” Ginny said, seeming to remember Harry’s presence in her flat. “How did brunch go? I don’t imagine Ron was too pleased.”

“He was actually pretty supportive,” Harry said. “But Hermione…she seemed mad. She snapped at me.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. But we had a heart-to-heart,” – Ginny muttered ‘ _of course’_ – “So I think it’s all right.”

“I’m glad, Harry,” Ginny said. “I’d have to have a word with the both of them if they were being idiots.”

“Thanks, Gin.”

“Anything for you, Harry.”

* * *

 

On Wednesday, Harry waited outside room 142 to pull Draco aside, catching him by surprise.

“Wha – Potter, what are you doing?” Draco hissed, though he allowed himself to be taken down the hall.

Harry grinned wolfishly before pressing Draco up against the wall and kissing him hard on the lips. Draco froze, returned the kiss, and pushed him away, his hands firm but gentle. His face was pink and stern.

“Right here? Really?”

“I’ve missed you,” Harry mumbled lowly.

Draco turned pinker at that and looked away pointedly.

“Don’t you realize that this is a wildly inappropriate place to do this?”

Harry ignored this question and asked his own.

“Come home with me afterwards?”

Draco considered it. “Will it end in another accidental three-day sleepover?”

“If you want it to,” Harry said softly, playing with the collar of Draco’s button-up. He avoided his eyes.

“I’m meant to meet my mother tomorrow,” Draco said, and put his hand over Harry’s own. “For tea.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not knowing if this was a yes or a no.

“I can spend the night,” Draco said, an amused smile on his face. Harry met his gaze. “I’ve just got to leave by tomorrow afternoon. All right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, biting down a smile. “All right.”

He looked down at his watch then, and glanced towards the room only to meet Sam’s eyes. The other man raised his eyebrows and Harry gave a little shrug. He looked nervously towards Draco, whose face was impassive, and by the time Harry looked back, Sam had gone.

“Er,” said Harry.

“Well said,” Draco replied.

“C’mon,” Harry said, rolling his eyes and taking Draco’s hand.

Despite Draco’s complaints, Harry pulled him over to the room and let go once they’d reached the closed door. Harry looked at Draco, who raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Is he mad?”

“Who?” Draco asked, and then, “Samuel? I don’t see why he should be.”

“Hm,” said Harry.

They walked inside; Harry plopped himself down next to Samuel, and for the first time, Draco sat beside Harry. Samuel cocked his head at them, his dark eyes flitting between Harry and Draco.

“So…are you two…?”

Harry nodded, his face feeling like it was on fire. He tried to bite down a smile and failed. He glanced over at Draco, whose face was colored a light pink. Samuel smiled as well.

“Congrats.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiled.

Kathy chose that moment to begin the session, calling their attention over to her.

“Good evening everyone, I hope you’re all well,” she said smilingly, gazing about the group. “I thought we’d start off with a breathing exercise today.”

And they did just that; Harry followed Kathy’s soothing voice, finding it easy to fall into a state of relaxation. He let himself loosen his muscles and listened to Draco’s measured breaths next to him. Their thighs brushed against each other and Harry had to grip the edge of his seat to avoid feeling Draco up in the middle of group.

They finished up the breathing exercise, Harry continually finding it harder to concentrate on nothing with Draco’s thigh pressed against his own.

“Excellent,” Kathy said. “Shall we go around the room? Who would like to start?”

No one responded, and Harry watched as her eyes met his own.

“Harry?”

He blinked at her and straightened, pulling his leg away from Draco.

“Yeah,” Harry said, and cleared his throat. He glanced over at Draco (his face impassive as always) before addressing the group. “I’ve been doing really well lately. It’s er – been a good week.”

“That’s wonderful!” Kathy beamed. “Is there any particular reason as to why you’ve had such a good week?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry said, determinedly not looking at Draco and choosing his words carefully. “I’ve gotten closer to someone. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten this close to someone – someone other than my best mates. I can really open up to him, and he…legitimately makes me happy.”

He saw Draco shift out the corner of his eye. Kathy studied the two of them with a knowing eye – Harry was strangely, _bizarrely_ , reminded of Dumbledore – before smiling.

“I’m so happy to hear that, Harry.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

Kathy moved on to Draco. “And what about you, Draco?”

He hesitated before speaking. “I’ve also been doing well. It’d been a productive week with some pleasant surprises, and it, well…feels like everything is finally falling into place. What I’d been waiting for, looking for, is happening.”

“That’s great,” Kathy smiled. “You deserve it.”

Draco frowned but nodded.

Kathy went on to the next person, and Harry tried to pay attention but his mind kept replaying what Draco had said.

 _What I’d been waiting for_.

* * *

 

As soon as Kathy called for break, Cait seemed to appear right in front of Harry and Draco, her arms crossed and a wide smile on her face.

“Have you two finally shagged, then?”

Draco went pink, and Harry sputtered. Samuel laughed next to Harry.

“Good,” Cait said, apparently getting the answer she wanted. At their faces, she rolled her eyes and said, “God it’s obvious, the way you two are _all over_ each other.”

Draco stiffened. “We’ll be sure not to be so ‘all over each other’ in the future, then.”

“Loosen up, Draco,” Cait said. “You make a good couple.”

Harry couldn’t think of anything to say.

“They do, don’t they?” Samuel mused.

Harry glared at him half-heartedly. Finally regaining his ability to speak, he said, “Do we have to talk about this?”

“No, but it _is_ interesting.”

“We’re very happy to provide entertainment for you,” Draco drawled, “But let’s find something else to discuss.”

“Well, I _also_ had a good week,” Cait said, kindly obliging to Draco’s request. “I haven’t had any coke since last Tuesday, which I think is a new record.”

“Er, congrats.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she said, ignoring his discomfort. “What about you, Sam? Have you had a good week?”

“Yeah, thank you,” Samuel said, smiling kindly at her. “I caught up on some schoolwork, saw my parents…it was productive.”

“You need to get out more, Sam,” Cait said. “We should all go down to the pub again. That was fun, wasn’t it?”

Harry’s face heated at the memory of that night.

Samuel nodded while Draco said, “Yes, it was.”

Harry nearly laughed from the absurdity of it all.

* * *

 

After their near disastrous brunch, Harry made a point to see Hermione and Ron more often, having lunch with them on Sunday and going to the cinema on Tuesday.

He’d briefly considered a life without them and in short, it was a terrifying prospect. Hermione and Ron had been constants since he was eleven years old and he depended on them, just like they depended on him. He knew it, and he believed it somehow, so he had to show it.

Harry had even managed to organize a triple date of sorts on Friday evening – him and Draco, Ron and Hermione, and Ginny and Luna. Harry was bouncing with nerves when the day came around, Draco patting him in an effort to calm him down.

“It’ll be fine,” Draco said for the tenth time that day.

Harry paced around his bedroom and ran a hand through his hair.

“We haven’t all been together in – what, since the end of fifth year? No, that’s not right. I can’t even remember. Fuck, Draco, why did I think this was a good idea? Is it too late to cancel?”

“Harry, relax,” Draco said calmly, his soothing voice washing over Harry. He had stood up from the bed and stopped Harry in his tracks, his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Take a deep breath.”

He did.

“Good. Like I’d said, it’ll be fine. You said Lovegood and mini Weasley were fine with us dating, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded.

“And Granger and Weasley have warmed up to it, right?”

He nodded again.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

Harry let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Do I look alright, at least?”

“I didn’t know you cared about your appearance,” said Draco, but his grey eyes ran up and down Harry appreciatively. Harry shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the sleeve of his dark emerald sweater. “You look more than alright, Harry. I could fuck you senseless right now.”

Harry felt a shiver go up his spine, his cock twitching in interest.

“Fuck, Draco, don’t say that,” he groaned. “We have to go in five.”

“Fine. You’ll just have something to look forward to when we get back, won’t you?”

“I hate you,” murmured Harry, stepping closer, watching with pleasure as Draco’s pupils dilated.

“I highly doubt that,” Draco said lowly. He ran a hand down Harry’s back, resting it on Harry’s arse. His breath was hot on Harry’s neck, and Harry shivered again.

“God,” he whispered, wondering how Draco could make him feel so weak.

Draco breathed on Harry’s ear, the ghost of a nibble making him shudder with want, but Draco stepped away, a smirk on his face.

“We’ve got to go, remember?”

“You fucking prat.”

* * *

 

Dinner went well.

Harry thought the waitress looked at them with interest, as if trying to figure out all their ties. They were quite the group, the six of them, obviously familiar with each other but not quite _close_.

Hermione’s and Ron’s attitudes were much better than they were on Saturday, and Harry was beyond grateful. They were perfectly civil with Draco, even making light conversation and jokes. Draco asked about Hermione’s work, and she seemed pleased to be able to talk about it with someone other than Ron or Harry, who weren’t really into the specifics of it all.

Ginny and Luna were glowing, it seemed, and it made Harry happy to watch them be so happy, so in love. They must’ve been – even if they hadn’t said it around him, Harry could tell.

Draco squeezed his hand under the table. When Harry glanced over at him, he mouthed, “You all right?”

Harry nodded and smiled. He was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all...this is it. This ending snuck up on me!
> 
> Warning: choking

“See? You had nothing to worry about.”

“I think I had a fair bit to worry about,” Harry disagreed.

He unwound the scarf that was around his neck and threw it on the kitchen table. He’d gotten a new one, of course – there were too many bad memories associated with that table. _A table_ , he scoffed to himself. It was fine.

Draco summoned two butterbeers, passing one to Harry as he sat down. He let out a great sigh and cracked the bottle open.

“Either way, it went fine. Granger and Weasley seem to loathe me _much_ less.”

“Great,” Harry muttered, dropping into the seat next to Draco and opening his own bottle.

“Progress is progress, Potter.”

Harry chose to take a sip instead of responding. He felt Draco watching him, and feeling uncomfortable, asked what was wrong.

“Nothing,” Draco said. He studied his hands. “It’s all right, isn’t it? That you’re drinking.”

Harry blinked, not comprehending.

“You gave it to me,” Harry said slowly, feeling as though he’d done something wrong.

“Yes, I know that,” Draco said, looking as though he was trying not to roll his eyes. “I was just making sure that it’s all right that I did – you already had two pints at dinner.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He scooched closer to Draco, touched that he’d noticed. “Yeah, it’s fine. Two beers in two hours is perfectly normal, Draco.”

“I know,” Draco said again, “But I seem to recall you, well, overshared about your drinking problem.”

Harry racked his brain and realized that yes, he did in fact tell Draco that, though it wasn’t in group.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Harry claimed. He took a sip, thinking. “And I think I also _overshared_ about how alcohol was nothing compared to dreamless sleep. So it’s fine.”

Draco frowned. “You’ve stopped, right?”

“Past tense. Yeah, I’ve stopped,” Harry said, nudging Draco’s side. He didn’t look that amused. “It’s been _years_ ; Gin made me stop. I was sort of, er, well, a nightmare. No pun intended.”

Draco seemed halfway between rolling his eyes and yelling at Harry.

“You haven’t seen any bottles, have you? I’m fine,” Harry said truthfully. “I’ve…been sleeping loads better…since you.”

He watched as Draco’s face softened.

“I believe you,” he said finally, his voice low.

He met Harry’s gaze, steady and warm. Harry leant in to kiss him, slowly, savoring the feel and taste of Draco, and the way Draco kissed back almost carefully.

They parted and finished their butterbeers in comfortable silence. When they went to bed ten minutes later, they lay in the dark and cuddled up against each other, and Draco said so quietly Harry almost missed it, “I’ve been sleeping better, too.”

* * *

 

On Saturday morning, Harry was woken by Ron’s owl pecking his head.

“Ow, ow, Christ, all right!”

He sat up, grumbling as he freed the note from Noc’s leg, who sat on his pillow importantly. He unrolled the parchment and saw three words scrawled in Ron’s messy handwriting:

 _SHE SAID YES_.

“Oh my god!” he shouted, effectively waking himself and Draco, who let out a string of mumbles and grunts. “Fuck.”

Harry scrambled out of bed and rushed to his desk, grabbing the closest parchment and quill he could find. He scrawled a quick message – _fuck congrats mate should I go over?_ – and stumbled back to Noc.

As Harry tied the note onto Noc’s leg, Draco rolled to face him and asked, “Who’s it from?”

“Ron,” Harry answered excitedly. He finished securing the note and waved his arms at the small owl. “Go, Noc, go!”

She complied, taking off and disappearing through the open window. Harry sat down at the edge of the bed, his heart still racing. Draco propped his head up, watching him with anxious eyes.

“Is something wrong? I didn’t think Weasley was capable of waking up this early.”

“He proposed to Hermione – she said yes!”

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “Wow.”

“It’s brilliant, isn’t it? God they’re perfect for each other, I mean it’s obvious, y’know, cos they were so _annoying_ during school and it’s finally happening, they’re engaged and she said _yes_ but of course she did –”

“Harry,” interrupted Draco calmly, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Draco had snuck up on Harry as he was blabbering, his steady hands now on Harry’s shoulders.

“You’re talking an awful lot,” Draco said. “Take a deep breath.”

Harry obeyed. When he finished, he insisted, “I’m all right.”

Draco looked wary but released him. Harry was relieved he didn’t have to say anything else when Noc flew back in, swooping onto Harry’s pillow once more. He unattached the scroll and read Ron’s note: _YES now._

He shot up and went straight to his closet to look for something clean.

“I’m gonna go over to theirs’, you want to come?”

“Oh,” said Draco as Harry pulled on a grey sweatshirt. As Harry shook out some (day-or-week-old, who knew?) jeans, he heard Draco say, “Would I be welcome?”

“Of course,” Harry said, buttoning his trousers up.

He glanced at Draco, who was still sitting there, unsure. Harry walked over, putting his palm over Draco’s cheek, smiling as Draco looked up.

“I’d like you to.”

Draco hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t be. C’mon. Let’s go.”

Draco frowned but obliged, going to Harry’s closet to pick something out.

“I should just bring my own wardrobe at this rate,” Draco observed, sifting through Harry’s apparently subpar collection.

Harry shrugged. “You can if you want.”

“Hm.”

He retrieved his glasses and shoved them on as Draco gingerly slid a long-sleeved shirt off its hanger. He watched as Draco got dressed and combed his fingers through his hair. Harry realized belatedly that Draco always wore long sleeves around Hermione and Ron. And come to think of it, had he ever pushed them up in group before?

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts.

“Ready?”

Draco nodded and followed Harry to the closest fireplace. They Flooed over to Ron and Hermione’s flat, Harry stepping out of the fire, buzzing with excitement.

“Harry!”

He was immediately enveloped by Hermione and hugged her back tightly.

“Congratulations, Hermione,” he said as they pulled away from each other, beaming at her.

She was trying and failing to contain the gigantic smile on her face. “Oh, thank you, Harry!”

“And congratulations, Ron!” he exclaimed as he went over to hug his best mate, whose ears were bright red.

Ron patted his back with slightly shaky hands and said quietly, “Thanks mate.”

“Look!” Hermione squealed in a most un-Hermione-like way, brandishing her hand in Harry’s face.

It was beautiful, he thought. Gently worn, as if it’d been passed down, but twinkling brightly in the light. It was perfect. He voiced his thoughts.

He then heard Draco offer his congratulations. Hermione smiled at him and thanked him warmly, as Ron flushed.

“Tea, anyone?”

“Yes please,” Harry said.

They made their way over to the kitchen, leaning against the counters as Hermione poured water into the kettle. Draco stuck close to Harry, obviously uncomfortable. Harry inched closer to him, sliding a hand into Draco’s own.

“So, how’d it happen?” asked Harry when he couldn’t wait a second later.

“Well,” began Hermione excitedly, looking over at Ron who was smiling like nothing could ever go wrong in the world. “We were just talking about work over breakfast – the most common conversation, really – when suddenly he knelt down and asked me! I was so surprised.”

“Yeah, I bet. I figured you were going to have a big plan, mate,” Harry told Ron.

“You knew he was going to propose?”

“Of course I did,” said Harry, almost offended, at the same time Ron laughed.

“He’s _Harry_.”

“Well,” Hermione said, smiling to herself, “I suppose.”

The water was boiling. Ron and Harry got four cups from the cabinet and set them down on the table. They automatically got their favorite teas and Harry turned to Draco, whose face was serious.

“What type of tea, Draco?”

“Earl Grey, if that’s all right.”

Harry got it and they all sat down, dropping tea bags and pouring steaming water into the mugs.

“I was going to make an event out of it,” confessed Ron as he moved his bag up and down. “But I was just thinking about how much I love her and how I wanted to hear her talk about work every day and I got caught up in the moment and – really, why not now?”

“Stop it,” said Hermione as she wiped away a tear.

“Brilliant,” said Harry, unable to articulate anything else. “You’re perfect for each other.”

“Now _you_ stop,” Hermione mumbled thickly, turning her head away.

“I didn’t realize you were so sentimental,” Draco said to Ron, and Harry turned to look at him, pleasantly surprised. Draco was smiling a bit, seeming more relaxed. “Congratulations. I know it can’t mean much from me but really – like Harry said…it’s a good match.”

Harry beamed at him, taking his hand once more underneath the table. Hermione made a little sobbing noise while Ron said smilingly, “Thanks, Malfoy.”

“Also,” Draco said, his eyes flickering towards Hermione, “I didn’t realize you were so weepy.”

Hermione glared half-heartedly at him. “Oh, shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco responded by raising his mug.

“To the Weasley-Grangers.”

The other three smiled and repeated his words, clinking their mugs against Draco’s.

* * *

 

Draco and Harry went back to Grimmauld Place a half hour later, congratulating the newly-engaged pair yet again before disappearing into the fireplace.

Harry enveloped Draco in a hug as soon as they stumbled out into the house, burying his face in Draco’s neck. He still couldn’t quite place his scent, but it was soothing.

Draco hugged back, his arms wrapping around Harry’s body comfortingly. Harry sighed happily, gripping Draco tighter and feeling like he could stay that way forever.

“So,” said Harry as he pulled away. He smiled at Draco, enraptured by the soft look in his eyes. “What do you want to do today?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Have you assumed we’re going to spend the day together?”

Harry’s face heated but he rolled his eyes, knowing Draco was just joking.

“What, are we not?” he retorted confidently.

Draco smirked and said, “I suppose we are. Well…although I do very much love borrowing your clothes, I miss having my own. Perhaps we could go over to my flat for a bit.”

“Yeah?” said Harry, excited at the prospect at seeing Draco’s flat for the first time. “Let’s go. I haven’t been to yours before.”

“All right. We can walk there quickly enough, and don’t forget, they’re Muggles.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to pretending to be normal,” Harry said smilingly.

Draco gave Harry a strange look at that but didn’t say anything; instead he made his way to the bedroom, Harry tagging along. As he gathered his things, he glanced repeatedly at Harry, who lounged against the doorframe.

“What?” Harry finally asked when he couldn’t take it any longer.

“What did you mean by ‘pretending to be normal’?” Draco asked hesitantly.

“Oh,” frowned Harry. “I just – you were there when I had to rehash my brilliant upbringing, weren’t you? That day at group? Yeah.”

Draco’s face was hidden, his hair falling in his face as he picked up his day-old clothes from where they sat on the floor. He nodded.

“They’re Muggles,” Harry went on, focusing on a piece of wallpaper that was curling away from the wall. He tugged on it experimentally. “Who hate magic. My aunt – my mother’s sister – despised her for being a witch, and she despised me for being a wizard. They wished that I was normal instead of a freak and taught me to hide myself so I wouldn’t _embarrass_ them. They were so obsessed with normality and their shitty suburban life that they treated me like shit.

“I mean – it’s fine. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m out of their lives, they’re out of mine…”

Draco had drawn close, his eyes pained. Harry’s eyes dropped from Draco’s own, finding them to be overwhelming, and he focused instead on how Draco’s fingers were gripping his clothes way too tightly.

“Harry…”

“Don’t,” he sighed, screwing his eyes shut. “Don’t do the pity thing. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it.”

“It’s not pity, it’s – anger,” Draco said tensely. “I’m angry that they did that to you, that they made you feel that way about yourself-“

“Draco, stop,” Harry said, finally matching his gaze. “I don’t – it’s _fine_.”

“No, it’s not,” Draco growled. “They can’t get away with this.”

“They already have.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I have to be,” Harry sighed. “Cos then it becomes too much.”

Draco swallowed thickly and crossed his arms.

“We don’t – I’m sorry. That I pushed you.”

“You didn’t,” Harry said quickly, putting his hands on Draco’s arms. Draco looked unconvinced. “If I didn’t want to talk about it, I wouldn’t have. I'm stubborn, remember?”

He tried for a smile. Draco looked even less convinced.

“Look,” Harry said. “I know my limits. I know what I can talk about. I know what I want to tell you – and there’s a lot, to be honest. I…feel like I can tell you anything.”

“Are you sure it isn’t because you love to overshare?” Draco asked quietly, his eyes avoiding Harry’s.

Harry let out a small laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s cos I trust you…and you understand. On some level, you understand.”

Draco’s mouth twitched. He moved closer, uncrossing his arms.

Harry bit down a smile and continued.

“Yeah, I know, we’re _different_ and everything, but we were both pawns in the war, weren’t we? And it fucked us up.”

“Yes, you could say that,” Draco laughed humorlessly. “But I wasn’t abused as a child, Harry. I come from a place of privilege and I was a spoiled brat.”

“I wasn’t-“

“I dare you to finish that sentence, Potter,” Draco threatened, his eyes dark. “You don’t have to make excuses for them.”

“I’m not fucking – making excuses for them,” Harry argued, flabbergasted.

Draco looked like he was going to fight, but he looked away, his jaw tight. “Fine. Let’s just go.”

“Draco, what, are you mad at me?” he asked, grabbing hold of his arm.

“No, of course not,” hissed Draco, shaking his arm free. “Let’s not talk about this now. It won’t do either of us any good. Let’s just go to my flat, have breakfast, and have a civilized conversation. All right?”

Harry worried his lip, hesitating before nodding rigidly.

“Good.”

* * *

 

Draco made them both scrambled eggs, toast, and sausage.

It smelled delicious, and even though Harry had offered to help, Draco insisted that he just sit down and wait.

Draco’s flat was nice. _Very_ different from the Manor, though that was unsurprising. It was clean and light and modern, its furniture simple and in warm tones instead of cool ones. And it certainly wasn’t as unnecessarily large.

“You have a nice place.”

“Hm? Oh, thank you,” said Draco from where he stood in the kitchen. “I’ve been meaning to do more with it, but with limited time and money…”

“It’s nice.”

“As you said,” Draco said, but Harry spotted a smile on his face.

Harry watched with a grin as Draco loaded up two plates with the food and carried them over to where Harry was sitting. Draco set them down on the table and sat down across from Harry, looking a bit nervous.

“Looks delicious,” Harry said, and it did.

“I hope you like it. I’m not much of a cook,” Draco confessed.

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

They took their first bites in silence, Harry admittedly impressed with how good the food tasted.

“It’s more than fine,” Harry said

He grinned up at Draco, who gave a little smile and studied his plate.

Harry frowned at him, bouncing his fork up and down in anticipation.

“Is it time to talk about it?”

“If you want to,” Draco said. He took a deep breath and looked away, his eyes hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to talk about this. It’s your choice.”

“I don’t really know how to talk about it, either,” Harry confessed. “I never really had a chance to. Honestly…that day in group was my first time actually talking about it to someone other than Hermione and Ron. And even then…I didn’t tell them much. They just figured something was up from things I’d said.”

“Like what?” Draco asked hesitantly.

“I dunno, like they didn’t treat me _normally_ ,” Harry said uncomfortably. He worried his lip. “They knew they weren’t the best. Did you know Ron and his brothers helped me escape in our second year? They showed up in the middle of the night and broke the bars on my windows. We flew away in their Ford Anglia.”

Harry gave a little laugh at the memory, feeling a twinge of pain at the thought of Fred.

“There were bars on your windows?”

“My uncle put them up after I messed up a meeting with his client,” Harry explained, sighing. “Though it wasn’t really my fault; Dobby dropped a cake on the woman.”

“Wha – Dobby?” Draco looked very lost now. “A cake?”

“He was trying to convince me not to go to Hogwarts. He knew – er, what your father was up to.”

Draco swallowed thickly, his gaze on his lap again.

“I see.”

“Draco, I…” but Harry fell silent, unsure of what to say. _Sure, your dad was very involved in a plot to kill me and bring my parents’ murderer back to life but hey, what’s done is done?_

“You don’t need to say anything, Harry,” Draco said, looking Harry square in the eye. “I know he was deeply flawed and dangerous, and there’s no excuse for what he did. Especially to you and…Ginevra.”

Harry nodded, his throat tight.

“Fuck,” Draco sighed, covering his face with a hand. “What are we doing?”

Harry’s heart leapt to his throat.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are we doing?” Draco asked, dropping his hand. His face was pained. “We’re not…meant to be together. You deserve better.”

“Draco –“

“It’s true. You deserve someone who’s wholesome and good and wasn’t a Death Eater.”

“Stop,” Harry growled. “You weren’t one by force. It wasn’t like your life ambition was to be a fucking Death Eater, you weren’t – I dunno – _yearning_ to kill people – “

Draco flinched and said lowly, “I thought they deserved to die. At first. I wasn’t clever enough to think for myself, to say, _perhaps my father is wrong and Muggleborns shouldn’t die_. I was a _fool_ , and worse, dangerous. I’ve almost killed people, Harry-“

“You were a kid. You were manipulated, same as me,” Harry exhaled through his nose. “Trust me when I say that I want to be with you. You’ve changed, Draco.”

He scratched absently at his left forearm. “Is it enough?”

“Yes.”

Draco’s expression was one of distress.

“How can you say that so certainly?”

“I know what I want. For the first time in ages, I know what I want,” Harry said firmly, “And it’s you. You make me feel alive _._ ”

Draco took a shuddering breath at that.

“Harry,” he nearly whispered.

“It’s true.”

He then did something Harry wasn’t expecting; he stood up, his chair screeching against the floor as he did so, and walked away.

“Draco?” Harry asked his retreating back, but Draco kept walking towards the kitchen, his hands curling into fists. He stood up as well but froze where he stood, unsure if he should approach Draco. “I’m sorry – was that too much? I’m not used to this, I haven’t done _this_ in a long time.”

“Why me?” Draco finally asked, turning to meet Harry’s eyes. He leaned against the countertop weakly. “How do _I_ make you feel alive when you’ve got the Weasleys and Granger and Lovegood and –“

“Because you’re different,” Harry cut in. He crossed the room and stopped a foot away from Draco, who seemed to be holding his breath. “There’s something about you, something that makes me not hate living so much. It’s like…you help me see through the fog. I don’t feel so lost when I’m with you, and you actually help me.

“I mean, God, obviously the others help too, but with them, I feel like I just bring them down. Like they’re doing so well and whenever I show up and whine about my life I just make it worse for them. But you make it feel like I can tell you anything and you won’t judge me for it or overreact or look at me with pity. I don’t – am I making any sense?”

Draco nodded stiffly. Harry wanted desperately to know what he was thinking, for him to say something, anything.

He opened his mouth. His eyebrows were drawn together; his grey eyes stormy.

But instead of saying anything, he closed the distance and kissed Harry harder than he’d ever had, taking Harry’s face in his hands. Harry let out an embarrassing sort of whimper and kissed back desperately, his heart close to bursting.

When they pulled apart, Harry tasted salt on his lips and saw the redness in Draco’s eyes.

* * *

 

“I make everything about me, don’t I?” asked Draco from his closet, his back to Harry.

Harry looked up from where he lounged at Draco’s neat desk, surprised. He smiled.

“It’s all right, I’m used to it by now.”

Draco scowled.

“It’s endearing. No, really. And you wouldn’t be the Malfoy I know if you didn’t.”

“You really know how to charm a man, Potter.”

“Thanks.”

Draco went to sit on the corner of his bed, facing Harry. He carried a duffle bag full of his clothes, which were admittedly of a higher quality than Harry’s own.

“I’m being serious,” Draco continued. He paused. “Whenever we try to talk about you, I just – make it about me. Like I’ve got any right to whinge about how hard life is when I’m the one who made a mess of it.”

“Stop,” said Harry, moving to sit next to Draco on his bed. He put a hand on Draco’s own. “You’re being dramatic. We’re both allowed to whinge; it’s not a competition of whose life is worse. And…we’re in a relationship. Two people, yeah?”

Draco smiled slightly at Harry. “You’re still not very eloquent.”

“You get the point.”

“I suppose,” said Draco. He gave a great sigh. “Well, I’m finished, so we can go back to yours.”

Harry stood up and grinned. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Harry helped Draco hang up his clothes in his closet. When they finished, they stood back and admired their work.

“It’s all right that you’re sort of…moving in when we’ve only been dating a week, right?”

“Of course,” Draco said seriously. “That’s what normal people do.”

Harry laughed. “Good. Well, now that you won’t have to wear my awful clothes anymore, I’d like my shirt back, please.”

Draco looked down at himself and back up at Harry, a sudden brightness in his eyes.

“Are you sure this isn’t just a horrible excuse to get me out of my clothes, Potter?”

Harry bit down a smile and inched closer, putting his hands on Draco’s waist. He licked experimentally up Draco’s neck, making the other man shudder.

“Now that you mention it, we didn’t get to fuck yesterday,” Harry murmured and sucked on Draco’s soft skin.

“You mean, I didn’t get to fuck _you_ ,” Draco corrected breathily, pushing Harry away and making him stumble back onto his bed.

“Right,” Harry said faintly. 

He took off his glasses and tossed them onto his bedside table, his cock hardening as he watched Draco take off his trousers and climb onto the bed. His erection only grew as Draco came closer self-assuredly, that gorgeous smirk on his face.

“Lie back,” Draco told him, and Harry obeyed immediately, feeling shivers run up his spine as Draco straddled him.

And then Draco began grinding against him, his hands gripping Harry’s shoulders tightly.

“How do you always look so good, Potter,” Draco asked as he bent forward, his breath tickling Harry’s ear. “Even when you throw on week-old clothes, you still look so _fuckable_.”

Harry couldn’t form an actual response and simply whimpered instead; Draco nibbled his ear as his hand reached down and began stroking Harry’s cock through his trousers. Harry writhed underneath him, his hands scrambling to find something to grab onto – they settled on Draco’s arse.

“God, Draco,” Harry managed to say as Draco continued to tease him, “I never would've thought you talked like this.”

Draco chose this moment to slip his hand into Harry’s trousers, and Harry gasped as Draco took hold of his throbbing cock.

“It’s lucky for you, though, isn’t it?” Draco asked, his voice velvety.

“ _Mmm_. Take ‘em off.”

Draco complied, unbuttoning Harry’s trousers and pulling them down enough so Harry could kick them off.

“This too,” Draco said, and Harry sat up to pull his sweater off, throwing it into some corner of his room.

“Fair’s fair, Malfoy,” Harry said, tugging on Draco’s own shirt and smiling smugly as Draco’s pupils darkened.

Draco pulled it off and let it drop to the side of the bed. Harry’s hands went to Draco’s chest at once, tracing invisible patterns around his scarred skin ( _beautiful so fucking beautiful)_.

“It’s such a turn-on when you use my surname,” Draco confessed, his eyes dark as he stared down at Harry. “You can’t imagine how fucking _irritating_ it was when you used to say it in school, it drove me fucking mental.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, biting his lip, a grin on his face.

“Yes, you smug fuck,” Draco growled, taking one of Harry’s hands and putting a finger in his hot mouth.

Harry melted instantly, feeling light-headed as he watched Draco suck his finger, his eyes glued to Harry’s own. He could barely bite down a moan as he continued his exploration of Draco’s bare torso and sure enough, he found his way back to Draco’s left forearm. It was mesmerizing, _still_ mesmerizing even though Harry’s seen it several times now. The markings were so beautiful, so intricate, and Harry felt he could run his fingers over it forever.

Draco released Harry’s finger from his mouth and licked his lips, his eyes watching Harry trace the pattern.

“You’re really obsessed with that, aren’t you?”

“It’s beautiful,” Harry breathed automatically, and his face heated as he looked up at Draco.

Draco’s face had turned a bit pink at that comment, and then he leant forward to kiss Harry. They snogged open-mouthed and hungrily, their breaths heavy and frantic. Harry wrapped his arms around the other man and pulled him in even closer – if it were even possible – and Draco’s hand found Harry’s cock once more and began stroking it with a newfound energy. Harry bit Draco’s bottom lip and pulled, a moan caught in his throat.

“God, forget that, just fuck me,” Harry panted, releasing him. “Please. I need it.”

Draco nodded, speechless for once, and reached over to the bedside cabinet to retrieve the lube. He slathered it on his hands in record time and soon his slick fingers were pumping inside Harry.

"Good?"

Harry nodded and exhaled shakily as he felt Draco’s cock enter him, tight and thick and perfect.

“Yes,” Harry gasped, his fingers curling and grasping the sheets.

Draco pulled back and grinded into him again, his sweaty body hot and firm against Harry.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry hissed, his hands now gripping Draco’s arse desperately. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Mmph,” Draco said, and he thrusted deeper into Harry.

Harry bit down a moan and screwed his eyes shut, relishing in the pain and pleasure. His nails dug into Draco’s skin.

“You,” Draco murmured, thrusting again. “You are, Harry.”

His face was flushed a light pink, his hair falling in his eyes and forehead slightly damp.

Had he ever seen anything so breathtaking?

Harry dragged Draco down, biting his neck and sucking his soft skin roughly, only interrupted by Draco pushing harshly into him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, releasing Draco. He pulled instead on his hair, his fingers wrapping securely in the white blond locks.

Draco just rammed into him harder, meeting Harry’s need to be filled.

“Yes,” he groaned, “Harder, Draco. Harder.” 

He obeyed wordlessly, bracing himself on Harry’s shoulders and pushing aggressively into Harry. Harry cried out and squeezed his eyes shut, lost in pleasure. His entire body trembled as Draco continued thrusting inside him, feeling more light-headed than he’d ever been.

And then Harry’s eyes shot open as Draco placed a hand around Harry’s neck, choking him with just enough force to make Harry’s entire body flood with pleasure. He couldn’t stop himself from writhing violently and he looked up into Draco’s dark eyes and soon he was coming with a shout, spilling all over himself and Draco.

Draco came just a moment later, pulsing deep into Harry as he cried out as well, belatedly releasing his hand from Harry’s neck. 

He fell back onto the bed as Harry panted harshly, his eyes shut as he willed his heartbeat to slow. When it did minutes later, he opened his eyes and looked over at Draco, who was breathing heavily, a lazy smile on his face.

“That was – er, wow,” Harry managed, rolling onto his side to face Draco.

Draco smirked, his grey eyes flitting over to Harry and chest still rising and falling with effort. “I’m glad you liked it. I should’ve asked first, but I just couldn’t resist –“

“Perfect,” Harry said before kissing him sloppily. He cuddled up next to him, pushing his sticky body against Draco’s own. “It was brilliant. No one’s ever done that to me before.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Harry nodded against Draco’s chest.

“You’re welcome,” Draco said arrogantly.

“Who’s the smug fuck now?”

Draco just smiled slyly at that, but then seemed to realize why Harry was so sticky.

“Ugh,” he said, and pulled away from Harry. “That’s disgusting. Come on, we’ve got to shower.”

He stood up, but Harry continued to lie there.

“But I’m so tired,” complained Harry.

“Tough. Maybe you shouldn’t have stuck your _bodily fluids_ everywhere.”

“’S your fault.”

“Merlin, you’re difficult. Come on,” Draco said, and he pulled Harry up.

Harry gave up and followed Draco to the bathroom, where they showered quickly (though thoroughly). When they’d finished and dried off, they hurried back to Harry’s bedroom and _scourgified_ the covers before lying back down.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Draco asked, his smiling, damp face inches from Harry’s own.

He wrapped himself around Draco and burrowed his face in his chest. “Sure.”

* * *

 

Even though winter was typically the second-hardest season for Harry (the first being summer, for obvious reasons), this winter was turning out to be pleasant.

It seemed to be the same with many others as well. Draco, for one, and many members of group were also doing well – Sam, Cait, Damien. And unsurprisingly, Hermione and Ron were also doing wonderfully, what with being recently engaged and all.

Harry got an owl a week after they told him the news, inviting him and his plus-one (there was a neat little winky-face drawn next to this) over to the Burrow for an engagement party the Saturday after next. Harry wrote back immediately, confirming that he and his plus-one would be there.

Draco paled a bit when Harry told him but put on a brave face and nodded, accepting the invitation. Harry knew that he was worried about seeing the rest of Ron’s family, but they wouldn’t have invited him if they didn’t want him there, right?

* * *

 

The next week after group, the same five who went out for Sam’s birthday went out again to the same pub. The walk over was quick, all five of them wanting to get out of the cold as fast as they could.

They entered the pub rubbing their frozen hands together.

“I’ll get the first round,” Harry offered.

“Cheers, Harry,” said Sam, and they went to find a table, though Draco remained by Harry’s side.

Harry ordered five pints and he leaned back against the bar, crossing his arms and smiling at Draco.

“What?” Draco asked defensively.

“I’m just thinking about the last time we were here,” Harry said, and relished in how Draco’s cheeks flushed pink, “And how it all began.”

Draco crossed his arms too. “Do you regret it?”

“Yeah, I regret having my life change for the better,” Harry scoffed. “Wanker.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

The bartender served up his five pints; Harry took three and Draco got the other two. Together they walked over to the back table Samuel, Damien, and Cait had gotten for them. Draco and Harry sat down next to each other, the others scooching to make room around the table.

“Thank you, boys,” Cait said, swiping a pint for herself. 

“Cheers,” said Damien.

“To group,” Samuel grinned.

They all cheersed.

“To group.”

* * *

 

It was the day of the engagement party.

Harry was dressed in one of his nicer button-ups and dark wash jeans, while Draco had decided to go with a tight black turtleneck, a smart grey blazer, and dark jeans.

 _God, he’s beautiful_ , Harry thought for what was possibly the millionth time.

“You look brilliant,” Harry said, clearing his throat and grinning shyly.

Draco tugged on his sleeves and glanced at himself in the mirror.

“Are you certain?” he asked, his forehead pinched. “I don’t look too formal? Or not formal enough? Or should I just wear robes? Harry-“

“You look _fine,_ Draco,” Harry said, sidling up next to him to look at them both in the mirror. He smiled at their reflections – himself, looking happy and _radiant_ , even, and Draco, impossibly handsome albeit the obvious worry in his face. He ran his free hand down Draco’s arm (the other was holding a supposedly nice bottle of elf-made wine). “More than fine, really. Gorgeous. I can’t wait until you fuck me into the mattress tonight.”

Draco remained unchanged by the words and simply pushed his hair back and bit his lip; Harry’s heart threatened to burst with how cute the sight was.

“You’re biased,” Draco responded. “You want me to fuck you into the mattress no matter what.”

“Well, yeah,” admitted Harry, “But I want it even more today.”

Draco turned to Harry and sighed.

“You promise I look all right?”

“I swear, you prat,” Harry said, and kissed him briefly. “Now let’s go, we’re going to be late.”

Draco rolled his eyes but took Harry’s hand.

* * *

 

Harry Apparated them a short walk away from the Burrow. Draco walked rigidly, looking this way and that as they made their way to the door.

“Breathe, Draco,” Harry reminded him, squeezing Draco’s hand with his own. It was clammy. “It’ll be fine.”

He knew Draco would need one last pep talk before entering the Burrow, hence why Harry didn’t Apparate them right to the doorstep.

“You don’t know that. I’m a bloody Death Eater.”

“I killed Voldemort, though, so that can’t be true.”

“I don’t have the patience for your cute jokes right now, Potter.”

“Would you prefer it if I made ugly jokes? Cos I can do that too.”

“What did I just say?”

Harry stopped, making Draco stop with him. He took Draco’s scowling face in his free hand and looked him square in the eye. Draco pouted but didn’t look away.

“I promise you that it’ll be fine. They wouldn’t have invited you if they didn’t want you here. And even if they don’t want to be civil, they _will_ be, for me.”

“Wonderful. That’s very reassuring.”

He kissed that smart mouth, trying to pass all of his good vibes onto Draco.

“It’ll be great. We’ll congratulate Hermione and Ron, we’ll say hi to Molly and Ginny and Luna and everyone else and it’ll be great.”

“Great,” Draco repeated. “Fine.”

Harry nodded and beamed. “One more for good luck.”

He kissed him once more, and Draco managed a small smile.

“You’re adorable, Harry.”

“Thanks, Draco.”

* * *

 

“Oh, Harry! And Mr. Malfoy! Come in, come in,” said Molly Weasley as she ushered them both inside.

“Hi, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry, and offered the wine to her. “This is for you, from the both of us.”

“How lovely, thank you boys. You must be freezing without your cloaks! Well go on, there’s hot food and drinks in the kitchen; Ron and Hermione will be in there too,” she beamed.

“All right, thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said.

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco said quietly, hardly daring to look the woman in the eyes. “It’s very gracious of you.”

“Oh, of course, dear,” Molly smiled. “I understand you’ve become quite important to Harry, and I must say, he _does_ look much healthier.”

Harry’s face heated, as did Draco’s.

“I – yes, I agree,” Draco said hesitantly, glancing over at Harry.

She beamed at them again and waved them away. “Go on, then.”

Harry led the way into the kitchen, Draco following him like his life depended on it. True to Mrs. Weasley’s word, Hermione and Ron were sat in the kitchen, snacking on the gigantic spread of food before them. They looked up at the noise and grinned.

“Hey, you lot,” Harry said, going over to hug Ron and Hermione in turn. “Congratulations, again.”

“Thanks, mate,” Ron grinned, clapping him on the back.

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione beamed. “Hi, Malfoy.”

“Hello, Granger. I trust you’re well?”

“Yes, thanks. Sit down, you two. Molly’s made enough food to feed an army.”

* * *

As the evening went on, more and more guests poured into the Burrow, offering Ron and Hermione their enthusiastic congratulations.

Harry realized that he hadn’t seen many of them in ages, a byproduct of his poor mental health. They were understanding, however, and some of them didn’t even blink an eye – they just greeted him heartily and went on to carry a natural conversation.

Predictably (and unfortunately), Draco’s reservations weren’t unfounded. There were many who greeted Draco with blatant surprise, while a few simply did not speak to them. Draco took this in stride, however, and remained by Harry’s side throughout the evening.

Ginny and Luna arrived fashionably late (for what reason, Harry didn’t know) and attracted lots of attention. Apparently, they had still been keeping their relationship on the down-low and used this event to make it public.

“Lovely couple,” Molly had said, wiping away a few tears. “I’m so glad my children are finding love.”

“Mum, stop,” Ginny replied, rolling her eyes.

She was beaming, however, and staring at Luna like she was her entire world.

Harry took Draco’s hand shyly, wondering if he looked at Draco like that. It was likely, Harry decided, as he gazed at him – at his aristocratic features, his enticing eyes, pink lips. Draco felt his gaze and turned to Harry, a questioning look on his face.

“Is something wrong?” he asked quietly, rubbing circles into Harry's hand.

“No,” Harry said firmly, a smile growing on his face.

He was happy. His friends were happy. And Draco was happy.

He knew it wasn't permanent - recovery isn't linear, after all - but he also knew that this was a life he wanted to live.

"Nothing's wrong."

His heart was full, and he was at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I was living a lonely life until I fell for you_  
>  _I was living a lost boys life, it was all I ever knew_  
>  _And every morning the sun comes up_  
>  _And the darkness fades away_  
>  _I was living a lost boys life, it was all you had to say_  
>  \- Computer Games 
> 
> I had a great time writing this, even if it did give me a few headaches. It was cathartic in a way, and it's kind of bittersweet to be done. I really hope you enjoyed this story. Thanks for sticking around til the end <3


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